


A Smile to Hide

by HatedLove6



Category: Original Work
Genre: CYOA, Choose Your Own Adventure, Creature and Human Love Interests, F/F, F/M, High School, LGBTQ and Straight Love Interests, Magic, Murder, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythical Beings & Creatures freeform, PYOP, Pick Your Own Path, Psychic Abilities, Urban Fantasy, WWFFY, Who Would Fall For You, Who Would You Fall For, wwyff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HatedLove6/pseuds/HatedLove6
Summary: Three years ago, the murder of your best friend has shattered the peace between humans and mythological beings. The longer your town lives in a false sense of peace within their isolation, the longer the hatred between humans and beings grow.  
Create your own path, and become a soldier to find justice for your friend by finding her murderer, or find yourself shipped away against your will to the mysterious Fintan’s Academy for beings with unnatural abilities. There, you will learn and hone the ability inside of you, and meet people who will change your world.  All become important, all become irreplaceable, but one becomes something more.  Woman or man, who will you fall in love with, who will become the friend you can’t live without, and most importantly, will you survive long enough to meet them?





	1. Mandatory Rules and Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I first started writing this story several years ago, and in the beginning the main role had a name, Kimberly Eli Upshaw. I have since edited out the name, but you'll still be referred to by "Upshaw." Still, I may have missed a "Kimberly" here or there. Please let me know if I missed any.
> 
> While I do edit and fix any errors I catch, please consider this as a first draft. A few of the chapters are very heavy on (Christian) religion and persecuting it, and I do want to change the mood of those chapters to where it doesn't seem like you hate the religion, but the town is definitely part of the Bible belt community, so it's heavily fixated on that particular religion, which can be smothering. When I start the revision process, this will be changed.
> 
> Also, I may add on, subtract from, or otherwise change chapters periodically. CYOA stories are hard to write, and I may publish chapters, get to writing other chapters, and realize that I need to change earlier chapters. I know this is annoying, so I dearly apologize. Another annoying thing I do is publish out of order. Sorry.
> 
> Tags will be added when necessary.

This is just a quick introduction on how to read this story, because I know there are some people out there who might have never encountered a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story or Who-Would-You-Fall-For/Who-Would-Fall-For-You story before, so this is to help those readers out. This is also to let you experienced CYOA/WWYFF/WWFFY readers know that this story will be a little different from what you've read in other such stories, so don't penalize me without giving it a chance.

First off, a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story is a story where you get to choose a path of where the story goes. You could choose door A, door B, or door C, and they all should be different and lead down in a different direction. On the internet, these paths or more often individual chapters rather than pages. Door A could lead to chapter 5, while door B could be chapter 60, and door C could go backwards to chapter 2. In other words, you don’t read CYOA like a traditional book from one page to the next, to the next, and to the next in that chronological order. You go backwards, forwards, to the very end, back to the beginning and every other direction by following the directions, which are very simple.

> _If you choose to go through door A, go to chapter 5._
> 
> _If you choose to go through door B, go to chapter 60._
> 
> _If you choose to go through door C, go to chapter 2._

Sometimes there will be three choices, sometimes two, maybe even four; additionally there may be only a single choice because that particular chapter is a bridge, but that’s just for transitional purposes so each chapters are strung together smoothly.

As for the WWYFF/WWFFY genre, while this is still considered interactive, it’s quite different from reading CYOA, but it’s still relatively simple to read. Think of it like an Otome/Dating game. Certain answers will win you points to a certain love interest, which there would be two or more of. During the story-telling parts there will be a variety of multiple choice sets for you to answer from, and at the end of the chapter comes the results. If you chose mostly A’s, you get to read about Character A. If you chose mostly B’s, you get to read about Character B. You’re supposed to only read your result, but it’s no big deal if you want to read all of them.

There may be chapters that ask you to add your score from that chapter to another chapter. Normally, the scores start over every chapter, which is still the case for the most part, but I may ask otherwise.

And there you have it. If it’s still confusing on how to read CYOA or WWYFF, be sure to let me know so I can clear it up. 

Now, for the more experienced readers, there's something I would like for you to keep in mind. Usually, when reading strictly WWYFF stories, every chapter (after one or more of the love interests have been introduced) has these multiple choice answer sets, and there's usually enough sets to at least have one point per character. What I mean is, if there are four love interests, there should be at least four multiple choice sets, or in this story's case—since you're allowed up to choose two answers per set—two multiple choice sets, but since this story is also CYOA, I can't control the length of chapters. Obviously, I wouldn't have multiple choice sets in bridge chapters because the only role bridge chapters have, is to make the transition from one chapter to the next go smoothly, and they're often really short, but I may not have enough multiple choice sets for normal chapters anyway. This is because, for me, the story comes first, and interactiveness comes later. I'm not just going to stick random questions in the story just to get enough answer sets in a chapter. If the situation in the story calls for interaction, I will provide interaction, if not, then there won't be an answer set. I also like a bit of room between answer sets, so I'm not going to stick answer sets in between every paragraph, or even every other paragraph. 

Besides, once I finish this story, I think the endings will more than make up for a "lack" of answer sets per chapter.

Now onto this story’s specific additional rules.

  1. In the multiple choice sets, you are allowed up to two answers per set. I’m trying to incorporate a wider range of personality, and I know all of us will have mixed reactions to certain situations, so if not one answer is spot on to yours, you can choose an additional answer.
  2. Be sure to record every single answer you’ve chosen throughout the story. It will be important in the end when it comes to your ending with a love interest. I know that I mix letters with the results almost every chapter, so organize it somehow so it’s clear who you’ve been consistently choosing by a character's name instead of letters, and keep this up for the story. Not every ending will be a happy one, and not all of the love interests may love you back.



That’s it. I know the second rule may be demanding, but this way it’ll be interesting. 


	2. Chapter 1

You don’t know why you hang out with Jessica and Markus. Maybe it’s because you’ve known them since elementary school, or maybe it’s because you have some things in common. Either way, you don’t like the subject that is currently being talked about: monsters.

“They are everywhere!” Jessica complains, flipping her long wavy brown hair out of her ivy green eyes. “I swear my new neighbor is a witch!” She doesn’t even look at either you or Markus, but is instead focusing on her compact mirror counting her freckles that are scattered over her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. She hates them, often complaining about them, and wishing they would vanish from her skin, but she still doesn’t realize that it was her freckles that made her noticeable.

Markus leans in and asks, “How so?” He doesn’t need to ask to convey that he wants to hear the details. His dark brown eyes beg for him, showing his eagerness for the conversation to continue. You think you can feel the tingles coming off of his dark skin. He tucks one of his dreadlocks over his head only for it to fall back over his face between his eyes. He thanks Jessica when she hands him a spare dark brown barrette.

Jessica finally closes her mirror with a snap and looks at you and Markus. “First of all, she wears all black, and when she was moving in her furniture, they were all creepy macabre pieces. I swear! There were cat statues, actual human skulls and old trunks being hauled in. They were big enough to hide bodies.”

You discreetly roll your eyes at the stupidity of the assumptions. You had actually greeted her ‘witch’ neighbor on Saturday night and helped her with unpacking some of the boxes, trying to be a friendly member of the community. Jessica must have been at a slumber party that night or else you would have been scorned by her. Poor Mrs. Henson. She had just lost her husband and was still in mourning. All the trunks were filled with her late husband’s things, and the old furniture was going to be sold to an antique store. The human skulls were ancient that her husband had collected when he was an archeologist. As for the cat statues, she just loved them. They were her hobby. As far as you can tell, after seeing many crosses, St. Mary statues, and multiple versions of the Holy Bible in the boxes, she seems like a strong Christian woman.

If Jessica and Markus are talking about anything else, they are civil, like actual human beings with compassion, but when ‘monsters,’ ‘creatures of the night,’ or ‘devils in disguise’ are brought up, they turn into a couple of bigot idiots. You don’t know if being in a Christian private school has anything to do with their attitudes, but either way, they turn you off so easily that it makes you question if they are your friends or not. Maybe you are insane, or the sanest person alive, but you’re not sure which.

They aren’t the only people who don’t like the thought of living together with different beings. Other students, parents, teachers, almost everyone you know disliked them, but the person who you know hates them most is Father Gordon; the principal and the head priest in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. As if the name of the city isn’t enough, witches, elves, faeries, dwarves and all other creatures are looked down upon; however actually chasing them out would be considered racist, prejudiced, hateful, and illegal.

Ever since the Industrial Revolution, when the homes of faeries in the forests, the mines of dwarves in the mountains, and everything that human thought was just mythology, was uncovered to be reality. People were scared, and it did become a witch hunt, so the creatures fought back. While they had mystics and magic, along with their own unique abilities, humans had advanced firepower and manpower. After a century, the creatures and the humans called a truce, and decided to try and leave each other alone. In the 1890s, both sides started to cautiously interact with each other and live like friendly neighbors that barely knew each other. In the mid 1930s, the Psychic Exams were created when psychic abilities started to suddenly pop up in humans. Most people thought it was because they were a hybrid of one of the creatures, but even if that was debunked as myth, because it turns out that everyone is a little psychic, and it was more of a mass paranoia at the time, a lot of people still think it’s a fact being covered up by the government who are being controlled by witches and demons. The Psychic Exam has been improved, and are still used to identify people with abnormal abilities and take them to a facility to make sure they aren’t dangerous. You don’t know what happens at the ‘facility,’ but none of the rumors were good, and rumors are all people have to go on.

It was three years ago, 1990, that had caused the country to go back two steps, and it happened right in your town. After everything was starting to seem peaceful, that night was history’s undoing. A priest was killed by a shape-shifter, but not before the priest took its life too. When the elusive shape-shifter clan stole their kin’s body from the scene and wouldn’t let it be analyzed by CSI, it was as if they hammered in a picket sign saying, “We’re guilty.” Only you know the truth. Only you know who that shape-shifter really was. She was your best friend, and her name was Quanisha Talbot.

You and she met in middle school and immediately clicked. You didn’t mind when you found out she was different; you thought that being a shape-shifter was cool because she could be anything she wanted, and had no problem pretending to be human, but she called it a curse. Quanisha described it as living in a shell that couldn’t fit onto her real shape. She was stuck inside, and only death could release her.

That night, after you finished your whispered secrets, stories, and jokes late into the night, after she snuck out of your room like she did every night that summer, you had a gut feeling that something was wrong. You snuck out to head for her house which passed by a church. By the time you got to the church, the blood was already shed, and Quanisha’s body was being carried away in a black shroud. A disfigured arm of a creature dangled from underneath the cloth, but you recognized the intricate colored knot bracelet you had made for Quanisha, in which she made a matching bracelet for you, and gasped, realizing that the arm had belonged to your best friend. Her father recognized you in your pajamas and jacket, and ordered you to go home. He told you to forget about Quanisha. In your hesitation, Father Gordon came out of the horror and saw you looking back at him before you started running.

Three years later, once you entered high school, Father Gordon has had it in for you, making up fake punishments, making you write lines or do community service all year. Your parents know about it all, but who can argue against the ‘word of God’ and the only eye witness to what happened. You have no choice but to endure it for three more years.

After lunch, you are called into the office, glad to have an excuse to be late for your next class, but dreading the visit. Father Gordon gives you the honor of waiting for you outside of his door. As you enter the room first, you’re bombarded with the usual sight of crucifixes and the smell of wood and leather varnish. Ever since Quanisha’s death, you never thought of God or Jesus the same way. You make your way to the seat in front of his desk and wait for him to say something. He always had the first words anyway.

“Ms. Upshaw, for the next two months, you will be excused from Sunday teaching to take the Psychic Examination.” Father Gordon has a grin planted on his old face, and you know that he is scheming something.

“The Psy-Tests? What for?” you ask pompously, not bothering to hide your disdain. People who are psychic are thought of as a little better than monsters since they‘re human, but still monsters all the same. Even if the psychics had a certificate that deemed them as not dangerous, people still avoided them, or treated them badly. “On what grounds do you think I’m not normal?”

He chuckles, placing his hands laced together on his desk, and says, “I’ve been watching you for a long time, and I’ve noticed a pattern.”

“Which is?” you ask slowly. The fact is you do have a certain power, but even if it’s really nothing, you don’t want anyone to find out. You have to find proof that Father Gordon had set up what had happened three years ago. It’s your mission to find out what happened to Quanisha, and why it had to be her.

“Last week, you dodged a mash potato ball without knowing it was coming or looking behind you,” he says casually, running a hand through his short salt and pepper hair.

“You’re saying I’m psychic because of mashed potatoes?” you ask sardonically.

“No, it’s not only that.” He reaches down and gets out a stack of composition journals, making you nervous. “All of these journals are filled with observations on you. These journals are my proof.”

“You must have big handwriting then,” you shoot out, trying to act calm and cool even though you can feel yourself shaking. Maybe he’s bluffing. “Your observations aren’t proof because you’re not an expert on psychics.”

“True, but this is enough to make you take the tests without your parents’ permission.” He has you where he wants you, and he knows it. “You start taking the tests this week,” he says, giving you a sheet of paper for your parents to read, and excuses you back to class. He always has the last words too.

When you get home and show your parents the paper, they are furious because Father Gordon had been secretly documenting your every move, and had finally called for the Psychic Exam. Even if your father is the Chief Detective of Winston-Salem, there isn’t anything he could do about refusing the tests. Your parents know about your ability, and you all know that there is a big possibility that you’ll test positive, but after that, none of you know what will happen.

It isn’t as if you can hurt anyone with your ability, but you figure that Father Gordon is just trying to find an excuse to get rid of you somehow. It’s a time like this where you hate being a human ball of freak intuition. In layman‘s terms, you can tell whom you can trust, and whom you cannot. You can do other things, like knowing when to dodge flying objects, but you rely on that trust-o-meter ability more than anything, and it‘s that ability that keeps reminding you that Jessica and Markus really are good people.

You always had a bad feeling about Father Gordon, even way before three years ago, but you never knew why. On instinct, you could tell that he didn’t believe in what he preached. It wasn’t until three years ago that you knew specifically why you didn‘t like him.

Your father was the first respondent at the scene and saw you running back home. He picked you up and continued to the church, telling you to stay in the car. From the car, you heard Father Gordon’s side of the story, and got a stewing sinking feeling all over. He was lying through his teeth. You told your father, but, even though he believed you because there was hardly a time when you were wrong about your feelings, there wasn’t any proof against Father Gordon. Not to mention, he was a priest, already sworn never to lie under the hand of God. He knows what happened to Quanisha, and is lying about it, but who would ever get the guts to actually point a finger and accuse him of the crime against a lowly creature?

However, your powers aren’t extreme like levitating or pyrokenisis, so you may not be ‘as psychic’ enough to have to be transferred to the facility. After all, your lie detecting abilities aren’t one hundred percent accurate anyway, especially when you‘re nervous. Besides, the exams are said to be only eighty-nine percent accurate. Hopefully that false negative will be your case.

* * *

Just like what Father Gordon said, you have to skip Sunday teaching to take the Psychic Exam. You think that the exam will be multiple-choice or take a really long survey, but you are wrong. Once you see what’s in the room, you realize that these tests won’t be so easy to fool. From the sight of the chair, wires, and monitors, the first test is a polygraph, and unfortunately you don’t have enough time to stick a tack in your shoe. How ironic. You’ll be done in with your own abilities.

“Hello, I’m Molly and I’ll be administrating your polygraph today.” Her vibration is as smooth as a tuning fork. She isn’t a bad person, but in comparison to Father Gordon, no one that you have met is, or at least is as bad, as him. Molly gestures for you to sit in the chair and sets up the hooks and sensors. The first few questions are control questions, and then the real test begins.

Two hours later, you are able to go home with a numb brain. All of the questions were difficult to understand, let alone answer with a yes or no. You can’t even recall any of the questions accurately. It makes you wish that they had found a ‘psychic gene’ already just so it would have been less nerve-racking. If you have to leave Winston-Salem, you would rather just get it over with. Unfortunately, that was only the first test.

The next two months was like a hellish soap drama on ice. Father Gordon continued on with his subtle attacks towards you by giving you more punishments on the case of not turning in decent amounts of homework or vandalizing school property which no one could prove who had done it. Then every week you had to take the exams which got harder to come up with ways to hide your abilities; there were more polygraphs, taped verbal questionnaires, therapy sessions, how fast you could solve various puzzles, guessing what symbol was on the cards, and other various kinds of mental tests. All the while, you had been avoiding Jessica and Markus because you taking the Psychic Exam was leaked and became one of the hot topics to gossip about. It was all draining, and you are glad it’s finally over.

Today, someone from the psychic facility is supposed to tell you if you tested positive or not. He or she is going to tell you your fate. You’re so nervous that your heart is beating faster than a hummingbird participating in a marathon, and your scalp is tingling between the follicles of your hair.

You step into the classroom like you had done every week for the past two months and see a different person; the messenger. Whether he is from hell or heaven depends on the news you get. He looks up to you and smiles. “Hello, Ms. Upshaw, I’m Dr. Phillips. Please, take a seat.” He raises a gnarled wrinkled hand to gesture to one particular desk right in front of the teacher’s desk that he is currently using. You take note that he is older than the other doctors you met and wore an outdated suit from the ‘50’s as you sit down. He has a manila folder with a lot of paper in it, and just seeing him look through it without saying a word makes you feel as though there is a hot stone sitting at the bottom of your stomach. He takes his time until he closes the folder and sets it in front of him. “Ms. Upshaw, your case was difficult to judge, but before I give you any kind of news, I have to ask. Were you completely honest throughout the tests?”

“If you mean the polygraph test and questionnaires, I could hardly understand the questions let alone answer them properly.” He gives you a look of what seems to be of suspicion. “I tried to answer as honestly and as best I could,” you rephrase.

Dr. Phillips smiles and chuckles while shaking his head, as if you are an elementary school kid. He looks back at you and takes a breath. “To be honest, you weren’t supposed to understand the questions anyway, so it’s good you actually tried.” Dr. Phillips opens the folder again and moves to sit in the desk next to yours to show you what’s in the folder. You see Xeroxed copies of Father Gordon‘s observations along with notations written in red, graphs, transcriptions of the tests also with notations written in red, and photographs of you, but he wouldn‘t let you get a detailed look at anything. “According to your file, you passed the tests with flying colors. You were completely honest despite being nervous–these are serious tests after all–and the sessions with Dr. Launceston (the therapist) suggest you have a very opinionated mind, which isn’t bad at all. You tested only a little higher than average in the puzzles, but it is probably because you said that your mother is a puzzle fanatic, so you have probably learned from her.” He pauses to let you take in all of the information so far.

“So I’m not psychic?” you ask, hopeful.

“This is where it gets difficult,” he says, gently closing the manila folder. “You have tested positive for being psychic—.”

“But not a strong positive, right?” You have to clench your jaws shut from anticipation and dread.

“It is a strong positive, stronger than most, actually; however, because your record is clean aside from a suspension for verbal disrespect, along with graffiti, you aren’t considered dangerous.”

There goes the chance of hiding the news that you‘re psychic. “That means I don’t have to leave Winston-Salem, right? I‘m not considered dangerous.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Upshaw, but you do. Your ability hasn’t fully matured yet, and it could get dangerous in the future. It’s for your safety.”

“‘My safety’?” you repeat, trying not to break down into tears. Dr. Phillip hands you the box of tissues from the teacher’s desk and waits for you to calm down. The thought of leaving home makes your hands shake and leaving you to take in only shallow breaths. “What do you mean ‘my’ safety? Isn‘t the whole reason for taking people away because it’s for everyone else’s safety?”

Dr. Phillips stays calm. Your reaction to the news is probably typical to him which ends up making you feel even more hysterical. “Along with your examination, all of the proctors had to observe other people and take notes of your surroundings. They aren’t exactly friendly people, are they?”

You nod with perfect understanding.

“Tell me, what happened three years ago. You were involved weren’t you?”

“Why do you want to know?” you ask defensively. Whenever Dr. Launceston asked about three years ago, you always chose to skip it. It was too personal to talk about. You felt like you had to protect whatever was left of Quanisha, even if all that was left was a memory.

He didn’t answer your question. He just said, “Pack up and be ready by three-thirty tomorrow morning. I‘m going to drive you to the airport myself.” Dr. Phillips is going to smuggle you out of the city without any witnesses, as if you are illegal goods. That statement further engrained that there is something to be ashamed about being psychic and you need to be hidden away.

By the time you arrive home, you had been thinking of ways to somehow make excuses on not leaving, to try and dissuade Dr. Phillips, but none of them seemed to be good enough excuses. There was one desperate thought of packing up and running away, but where would you go? All of your family is in Winston-Salem, and what would you do for money? It isn’t as if you could get a job easily at fifteen who had barely passed her first year of high school just last week. Your only hope is to find Quanisha’s father, but he could have changed his looks and gotten a new name. He could be anywhere by now, so the chances of finding him are virtually impossible.

Another scary thought pops into your head. You would leave and Father Gordon would carry on with his life as if he never did anything wrong. He would get away with murder!

* * *

_If you decide to run away, go to[Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216527)_

_If you decide to pack up and get ready to see Dr. Phillips, go to[Chapter 3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20217169)_

_If you decide into sneak to Father Gordon’s house, go to[Chapter 4.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216668)_


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous chapter:  
> [Chapter 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20204974)
> 
> You just passed the Psy-Test and Dr. Phillips plans to smuggle you out of Winston-Salem, but you have plans of your own—run away and find Quanisha's father, Mr. Talbot.

The decision is clear. You have to leave, but not with Dr. Phillips. If you’re going to get any answers at all, you have to take a chance and find Mr. Talbot, Quanisha’s father. Quanisha used to tell you about the mountains, how she and her clan would go there to celebrate, but she never specified which mountain it was. According to the maps you found in the library, the nearest mountain range is the Appalachian to the west, so that‘s where you‘ll start.

With about a year’s worth of your allowance, a duffel bag full of clothes, mace, a flashlight with three sets of extra batteries, a hygiene pack, along with two water bottles, and bags of trail mix, you set off towards the bus station. Over half way there, you realize that the station is closed, and the police would spot you if you stayed the night there; however you continue on and snag a bus route map and take out your flashlight. As you walk in the two in the morning, freezing cold, dead air, you look at the map and see that the highway runs alongside the mountains, and sure enough, when you eventually do reach the road that exits to the highway, you see a bike path. The unfortunate part, where you do have a road to walk on, you’re not looking forward to walking all through the rest of the night with the nearest town being over twenty miles away.

A white light slowly creeps up behind you, shining on the ground steadily getting brighter, and then suddenly moves your shadow to the side. You look behind you to see a car driving rather slowly and occasionally stopping. Then it circles around and starts driving in your direction. Should you chance hitchhiking, where you could possibly end up being kidnapped, or chance the night where you could be kidnapped, killed, or eaten by some wild animal?

* * *

_If you choose to hide from the car and continue on the bike path, go to[Chapter 7.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268472)_

_If you choose to risk hitchhiking, go to[Chapter 12.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313574)_


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20204974)  
> [Chapter 12](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313574)  
> [Chapter 14](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313784)  
> Chapter 22
> 
> You just passed the Psy-Test and Dr. Phillips plans to smuggle you out of Winston-Salem.

Dr. Phillips tells you to lie down in the back seat so no one can see you, and frankly you don’t want to see anyone either. Despite the early morning, there are probably some people awake and spying through their windows. Everyone at Winston-Salem had probably already heard about you having to take the Psychic Exam and testing positive, so they were probably prepared to gawk when you had to leave. You inwardly bet that everyone would call you a freak, and say, “I knew it, that’s why. . . .” You also could imagine that Father Gordon would be preaching about it, faking his sadness and say something along the lines of, “Ms. Upshaw was cursed from birth, but may the Lord have mercy on her sweet and kind soul.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t go through with it,” Dr. Phillips says. The ride had been quiet until he said that.

“Go through with what?”

“Murdering Father Gordon.”

You sit up violently, and about to argue with him.

“You wanted to know what happened three years ago, but you’re angry. If you had seen him, you would have killed him. I know this because you’re not the only one in this car with abilities.” He looks in the rear view mirror at you. “Trust me, you’ll know the truth, and better understand it when you’ve learned more coming from the other side of the fence.”

You know he’s right—if you had seen Father Gordon, you probably would have at least assaulted him, but killing him seems far-fetched to you. Dr. Phillips was probably only trying to scare you. “What do you mean? What ‘other side of the fence’?”

“Do you know where psychics go?”

“A facility?”

He chuckles. “Not quite. We don’t force the exams on people unless there’s a valid reason where a person‘s safety might be at risk, along with if there are a number of complaints, but we try to encourage them to take the exams on their own. Those over the age of eighteen and have held a job for a while get transferred to another area, yes, because the Psychic Exam isn’t discreet. We’re trying to change that. Those people, after they transfer, can do whatever they like. They can come to our ‘facility’ to better understand their ability, or they can live the rest of their lives to try and be normal.” He looks at you again. “You, on the other hand, are underage, and normally when there are a number or complaints or suspicious observances, the same courtesy of giving you a choice to take the exams or not is given. However, since Father Gordon seemed convinced that you would harm him, you didn’t have that choice, but since your ability seems to be rather harmless, we would like for you to come to our school. I‘ve already talked with your parents, and everything regarding guardianship, financial aide, and expenses are taken care of.”

“But you just said my ability was harmless. Why do I have to go to your school?”

“You may not be a danger to others, but there are some in that town that are cruel, aren’t there? If they know that you are abnormal, they may go out of their way to put you in danger, or put you in situations where you can‘t defend yourself.”

You nod, remembering all the acts of bullying you seen and heard about. High school students were exceptionally cruel. One of the freshmen boys was hospitalized because of his excess hair. At first, people joked that he was a werewolf even though your school only allows humans, but one day the freshman got angry and physically violent, so the “normal” people fought back and claimed that he was a shape-shifter or a werewolf even though it was a blatant lie. Ultimately, since it was considered self-defense, no one was charged, and he boy transferred to another school. “So, I’m just going to be at a new school? That’s it?”

“The school you’ll be going to isn’t just for human psychics. Believe it or not, these ‘monsters,’ as your friends call them, can have a strong psychic gene as well, and they also get the brunt end of things. Discrimination, a very sad thing, is everywhere, even between them.”

“OK, aside from the school, why can’t my parents come? Where am I going to live?”

“The school has dorms which you and a roommate will be residing in.” He continues on to tell you more about the school—the rules, that monsters prefer to be called either by their species, “beings,” or “people,” and a bit of the school’s history. It all fascinates you because you had inherited your father‘s love for history, but with every word he says, you feel the cold hand of fear wrapping around you. The fear that nothing will change, and that, in the end, there would be no redemption for the fallen and the wrongly accused. Dr. Phillips quite enjoys speaking, so you let his monologue go on uninterrupted throughout the drive until you arrive at an airport. Dr. Phillips and you grab two bags each, and enter the building.

“Where is the school? I don’t think you mentioned exactly where it is?”

“I didn’t? It’s in Holland, Michigan.”

“Michigan!” People start to stop and stare, so you try to be quieter. There are tales of what goes on in Holland, Michigan. The religious fanatics there were rumored to be worse than the religious fanatics in Winston-Salem. “Isn’t there another school?”

“Unfortunately, no, not quite. There are schools for psychic humans and psychic beings, but none of them are co-species. You were best friends with a shape-shifter, so I thought you wouldn’t have minded enrolling into a school filled with other people.”

“Well, yeah, I don’t think I would care about that too much, but what about the churches?”

He laughs and continues walking towards a gate. It unnerves you even more when he doesn’t answer, but continues his hearty laugh. After the quick x-rays, the scanning, and getting to your seats, he finally answers, “Don’t worry about them. They haven’t done any harm as of yet. I’m quite surprised you’re more worried about the churches than who, or rather what, your roommate and peers will be.”

When he mentions that, you realize that he‘s right. Being friends with beings are fine and dandy unless they are species that love the taste of humans—and there are beings such as that. The churches, if they bother you at all, will most likely be the back-burner of your problems, but it still fills you with fear and anger. You’ve practically ignored your American History text book along with the text book about Christianity and went to the city library to scour through the books to find out what had really been going on, but you hadn’t had much luck. Apparently, the books that held truth, whether they were metaphorical fiction or not, were banned from the Winston-Salem district, so you have no idea what you’ve been missing out on.

“Now, now. I’m a Baptist, and I haven’t hurt you yet, have I?” He reaches into one of your carry-on bags and pulls out your cassette player. “Listen to music, and sleep. I’ll wake you up when we arrive.”

The fact that he knew which duffel bag had your cassette player unsettles you.

“I thought it would be obvious by now,” Dr. Phillips states. “I’m a mind-reader, and I can also read tokens and objects. Now, please, try and sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day for you.”

“Can you see the future too?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm.

“That’s preposterous; of course not.” Just when you’re about to feel a bit of relief, he continues. “My best friend can though, and she said that the next psychic I would meet would be special. That‘s you, Ms. Upshaw, so I‘m counting on you to not let me down.”

You decide that you don’t want to know his cryptic speech, and opt to listening to your music to sleep to.

* * *

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn‘t get any sleep. You’ve never been on a plane before, so was nervous throughout the flight, and the people walking up and down the aisles didn’t help to calm your nerves at all. After only a half hour during the flight, you were more looking forward to land than explore the plane. When you do land, it’s still dark, so there isn’t much of the scenery to take in from inside the airport, but you can already tell it’s going to be much different compared to home. The vibrations from the people are for the most part smooth, like the bow caressing the strings on the violin, but there were some with violent beatings, like drums. You are surprised at the overall lightness of the atmosphere.

“I need to make a phone call, so sit right here,” Dr. Phillips tells you. “Don’t even think of running away.” You almost hope that he’s just telling a joke, but his face is too serious. Dr. Phillips walks to a nearby indoor phone booth to make a call, keeping his eyes on you the entire time.

You continue to look around and notice that there are other beings, somewhat disguised as humans with only the color of their eyes or a set of horns to give them away, mixed in with the crowd. Winston-Salem doesn’t have the resources or any beings to manufacture a glamour disguise for those who don’t have a human shape if they need one. A lot of jobs, if they hire beings at all, require them to have a human-like shape so human customers don’t get scared off. Personally, you had never seen a being with a glamour before, and not knowing precisely what they were put you off with nervousness. Quanisha had been completely honest with you from the very beginning, give or take a few days.

After about fifteen minutes, Dr. Phillips nods his head and hangs up. You stand up as he walks toward you, and you each grab your luggage. When you reach outside with a taxi waiting, you take in the heavy scent of lake air, and it’s much, much colder being near the large lake than the puny in comparison man-made lake and rivers despite it still being summer. 

By the time you reach your destination, the sun barely peaks out from the horizon, illuminating the massive building among the trees. It’s made completely of stone, complete with a bell tower, other larger towers and stained glass windows, and as the taxi slowly approaches the building, you see that above the arched doorway, is a large stained glass rose window, but you’re still too far away and the trees obscure your sight to see the precise pattern of the stone frame that held the colored glass. 

“This school used to be a fully-functioning cathedral, but after a violent riot that caused a fire, people—humans, at least—thought it would be better off destroyed, but instead, it was reconditioned and expanded to become a school,” Dr. Phillips states. “While the original building was built in the 1850’s to model the old European Renaissance Gothic architecture, there are rooms, halls and other separate buildings built in this same style, with even the same original materials, but only much more recently. Even the fence surrounding the entire property is only a decade old.”

As he says the last sentence, the taxi pulls inside the wrought iron gates with the sign of the school above the entryway: Fintan’s Academy _Semita Ut Verum Quod Iunctum Per Scienta._

“It’s Latin for _‘the path to truth and unity through knowledge,’_ ” Dr. Phillips translates.

You might have made a hopeful comment about the phrase, but you’re too annoyed at Dr. Phillips’ knack at continually reading your mind. “Would you please stop that?” you ask in a more demanding tone.

He chuckles in good humor. “Sorry. Your mind is just so loud and clear, I thought you were actually reading the sign aloud.”

A few more minutes later, the taxi drives all the way down the path right up alongside the stairs. The building’s a lot more gigantic than you had originally thought, and is even more intimidating. You are so busy looking up at the height of the building, probably at least thirty floors up, you don’t notice that you should be paying more attention slightly more towards the ground.

“Ah, Dr. Phillips. I see yeh have brought our newest student.” The voice is airy, and with a slight Scottish accent.

You immediately look lower and look around for the source, and almost miss the two short women. At least, you think they’re women.

“You must be Ms. Upshaw,” says the taller of the two, but is only as high as Dr. Phillips’ collarbone. 

The other is as tall as his diaphragm. It looks as if their heads are too big for their bodies, and their limbs are short and stumpy. The one speaking has bright reddish-brown hair, but the odd thing about her hair, that is obviously noticeable, is that she also has thick sideburns that taper off to light facial hair. The other has a complete thick curly dark-haired beard that reaches to her middle. It’s quite hard not to stare.

“I am Priscilla Rhoda, but you will call me Principal Rhoda,” says the light-haired one. She holds out her babyish hand for you to shake.

“And I’m Gerda Ymir—and that’s Vice Principal Ymir to you,” states the other stiffly. You shake her equally babyish hand and are surprised by her strong grip. Vice Principal Ymir reaches into her satchel and hands you two spiral bound books. “These will help you adapt to your new environment and help you start off at this school with a clean slate. We expect you to have read these ASAP, before your first day of school in early August.” The thinner of the bound books is the Code of Conduct, which will probably be extremely similar to the Code of Conduct booklet you had received at your previous school, but the other, a much thicker book, entitled “Fintan’s Survival Guide,” gives you a more troubled feeling.

Dr. Phillips hides his chuckling, obviously having had read your mind once again. “She’s in your hands now, Ms. Rhoda, Ms. Ymir.” You look back at him, scared that he’s leaving. Before you can say anything, he beats you to it. “Don’t worry; I’ll be back the day before school starts to see how you’re doing. Follow their rules and be careful.” He steps into his taxi and they drive off.

“Come along, lass,” Principal Rhoda ushers.

You’re about to grab one of your bags before Vice Principal Ymir states, “Leave your bags. The goblins will take them to your room.”

“Speaking of which,” Principal Rhoda says thoughtfully, “would you like some breakfast, or are you too tired and would like to sleep?”

You state your decision, and Principal Rhoda smiles. “Alrighty, then. Follow us closely now.” Both principals turn around—although it looked more like the vice principal waddled—and started walking up the stone stairs to the massive arched double-doorway. Still not sure about leaving your luggage on the ground, you at least wanted to carry one bag with you, but when you turn around and look around the ground, the bags are gone.

Vice Principal Ymir makes a sound of exasperation. “The goblins already took your luggage to your room. Follow closely now, please.”

It’s hard to not feel stupid when the adult sounds annoyed, and so it makes you feel annoyed. You’re sure Principal Rhoda is taking your side though because you can see her whispering to her partner with a concerned expression. Vice Principal Ymir sighs with a nod.

As you approach the arch, you get a spectacular close-up view of the bas relief carvings, and after seeing the skeletal demons and skeletal humans all in pain and suffering, along with more healthy-looking statues of human-shaped people (whether they were humans or glamoured beings you couldn’t tell); it made you feel even more apprehensive and scared.

“It’s OK, lass.” Principal Rhoda gently holds your hand and carefully leads you inside the what-once-was-a-cathedral. When you reach inside, it still looks like a working Catholic Cathedral. “Despite various species from all over the world attending here at Fintan’s Academy, many of our students are very spiritual, and even though this was a Christian church, plenty of our students have found room here for other spiritual practices. All you need is a space to pray after all.” 

You nod in agreement. Needing to pray, or being a spiritual person, or not at all, you feel at peace in this room, especially because the sun is shining through the rose window, creating a beautiful kaleidoscope of colorful light on the ground. You want to see more, but both of the principals are on the move, so you have to follow them, but you feel a slight buzzing in the back of your mind. Quickly, you look behind you and at first see no one, but then you see a patch of white hair in the shadows. His face is too dark to be able to see any distinguishing features, but you can’t dawdle any longer and follow the principals.

* * *

_If you would like to sleep, go to[Chapter 9.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20292544)_

_If you would like breakfast, go to[Chapter 34.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20421550)_


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapter:  
> [Chapter 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20204974)  
> [Chapter 7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268472)
> 
> You just passed the Psy-Test and Dr. Phillips plans to smuggle you out of Winston-Salem, but you have plans of your own—go to the church and do your own investigation, and confront Father Gordon once and for all.

You can’t. The thought of letting Father Gordon go without any clues disgusts you. The night that Quanisha died is all you can possibly think about. This is more important than anything. Quanisha, along with Mr. Talbot, Quanisha’s father, and Father Marlow, the priest that Quanisha supposedly killed that night, depends on you to find out what really happened three years ago.

The window whines as you open it, sneaking into the kitchen of the church. If there is any piece of evidence that was left behind that night, you would find it. Tonight. You maneuver your way in the dark and find the door that leads to the worship area with the large altar and rows of pews stacked with bibles in every seat. There aren’t any candles lit, but the moon filters inside, enhancing the shadows, and making the atmosphere eerie. Depending on your ability of intuition, you explore every row until you settle directly over the spot Quanisha died—right in front of the altar. You could also feel Father Marlow next to the spot. It leaves you feeling sad, even though you should be angry. You shake off the feeling and keep looking around, checking behind every curtain, under the furniture, and everywhere else you can think of.

There is nothing. You even go back in the kitchen, but don’t find anything. Frustration hits you. If you can’t find any physical evidence, maybe you should confront the source of it all. Father Brian Gordon. It’s the only way. It’s the only thing left that you can think of.

You go toward his private office, thinking his bedroom has to be near that area, but then your mind starts reeling with dizziness. Looking around, you see a door, and on it is a sign: SUPPLY CLOSET. Ahead of you, you hear a door close. Your heart pounds in your chest.

The feeling you’re having is telling you to open the closet, that there might be something important inside, but if a nun is coming or another priest, you may end up going to juvenile hall instead of getting your answers from Father Gordon. You hear distinct footsteps steadily getting closer. They sound like new Oxfords on the polished wood floor. You have to make a quick decision.

* * *

_If you decide to open the door, go to[Chapter 5.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268049)_

If you decide to hide and then go find Father Gordon, go to [Chapter 21.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20421289)


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216668)
> 
> Upon learning that you've tested positive for being psychic, and are about to be smuggled out of town, you decide that you're going to use the night to investigate and confront Father Gordon. You've snuck into the church and find a closet with unusual energy, but you hear someone coming.

Desperately wanting to know what is in that closet, you try to open the door, but it’s locked. The tapping of the floor makes your heart beat even faster, and the surge of panic makes you tremble. Your mind jumbles as you hesitate in your fight or flight response. Looking around, you see a large concrete statue of an angel, and hide behind it. The echoing footsteps get louder as whoever it is gets closer, and just as the footsteps reach to where you are, they stop. You hold your breath, knowing that the person is right in front of the statue, but after a few moments, you take a peak.

His back is turned to you, and the darkness hides his identity, but you also hear him unlocking the supply closet. Temptation is ringing the bells in your head. You want to look. The buzzing is demanding that you look. The man who opened the closet steps inside, turns on the overhanging light bulb, and shuts the door behind him. You step to the door to press an ear and you wait. Listening. The only thing you hear is some sliding and scraping, as if he’s moving a piece of furniture, and you hear him walking down a set of stairs, but that can’t be. It’s just supposed to be a closet, isn’t it? You inch the door open to go inside, and only see what you expect: brooms, mops and a vacuum on one side, while on the other is a small shelf of other cleaning supplies. You feel around, eventually finding a small vertical crack in the wall, and push against it with all of your weight. The wall slowly swings outward and you see stairs leading up. Some of the steps creak, making you flinch with each step. When you reach the top through a hatch on the floor of the room, you cautiously look around, and don’t see the man that came in. You climbed the rest of the way into the room and see the piers supporting the ceiling which is in an arch. It’s the church’s attic. 

A flickering glow catches your attention next, drawing you toward it. When you reach the table you see a mountain of white and yellow candles that had melted on top of each other, illuminating an altar. The centerpiece is a photograph of you and Quanisha hugging and smiling, but Quanisha‘s face is covered with a red X, and your face is circled in red. You recognize the background of a church camping trip you both had went on when you were both barely in middle school—you had met on that camping trip! Around the picture you recognize a rosary that had belonged to Father Marlow. You couldn’t forget the cross made of polished redwood, the blue and green alternating beads and the Jesus figure and the chain being gold. Underneath the items and the candles you see lines of white chalk in an intricate star pattern. Tears streaked your hot face and you covered your nose and mouth with a hand, willing yourself to not make a sound, or to break down and cry. You carefully picked up the photograph and see, lying beneath the photograph, a long strand of thinly braided black hair with orange beads on one end wrapped around a brush with hair still in its teeth that had faded. It took you a moment to realize that the brush is yours, lost from a couple of months ago during gym class, and you distantly remember that at one point Quanisha had complained that one of her braids must have fallen off because her aunt had braided it too tight. Her hair had orange and red beads hanging from them.

Nausea and lightheadedness washes over you. You crouch down to try and mollify the ill feelings you’re experiencing, but can‘t hold back from retching. 

“What in God’s name—!”

You tip over the table trying to stand up. The knocked over candles burn a curtain, and melting wax pour all over the floor. For a split second, you see Father Gordon’s face before he pushes you down and tries to strangle you with his meaty hands. No air can reach your lungs, and your brain starts to feel fuzzy. You grope and hit his shoulders, and try kicking to no avail. Blindly reaching around, you try to grab something. Your vision starts narrowing. When your hand grips a solid object, you thrash it against Father Gordon’s head, making him let go of your neck. You bring a knee up and kick his chest, sending him on his back away from you, allowing you to suck in air, including the smoke that had been starting to collect in the room. Crawling away, and finding your feet to stand on, you see that you had grabbed your brush and Quanisha’s braid. 

Father Gordon groans, and starts to stand up.

* * *

_If you decide to stay and kill Father Gordon, go to[Chapter 6.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268286)_

_If you’re too scared to stay, and decide to run, go to[Chapter 13.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313694)_


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 5]()
> 
> You've snuck into church and sneaked into the supply closet to find a hidden room. There, you find an altar with your picture and one of Quanisha's braids. Pushing you over the edge, knowing that Father Gordon wouldn't ever stop, you've come to the decision to kill him.

Seeing Quanisha’s braid and knowing that Father Gordon was praying for Quanisha’s and your death sends you over the edge. Him praying for it, and it being almost granted, he had to have some sort of ability! You run to Father Gordon before he stands up, and start thrashing against his head with your brush, yelling with each swing. He puts up his arms in order to shield his face and then punches you across the face, causing you to drop the brush. Before you could reach for the brush again, he shoves you to the side, making the mace fall from your pocket. Before you know it, he’s on top of you again, but this time, you see the glint of a knife. You grab the spray and aim for his eyes. He drops the knife and howls in pain. You reach for the knife and stab him straight in the chest.

Blood slithers down from his wound onto you, and blood dribbles from his mouth as he tries his hardest to breathe, choking on blood and smoke. You stab him again and again, even as he falls on his back, still, noiseless, and lifeless. His eyes are still open. Staring at you. The only thing that stops you from continuing on your mindless rampage is your lungs, burning from the smoke that is filling the room. 

You leave the body. The fire hadn’t spread to the hatch yet, and just as you started to run down the stairs, you hear a great moan, a crack, and then a crash. You don’t stop to find out more and you race out of the closet. You race down the church stairs and you race outside using the front entrance. Once the cold, fresh, night air reaches your lungs, you turn around and stare at the attic burning. You run away from the church, scared after hearing sirens and see Dr. Phillips coming out of a car that’s parked a little down the street.

“Take me away from here,” you cry out, sobbing. “Please, take me away.”

Dr. Phillips’ mouth drops open. He carefully steps toward you and places a hand on yours, the one still clutching the knife, and the other on your back. Once he has the knife in hand, he softly says, “Get in the car.”

You both get in the car, and he drives. You’re too busy crying and looking at your knees to care where he takes you, just as long as it’s out of Winston-Salem. After a few minutes of driving, he puts the car into park. You look at him, and then look up to see that he had parked in front of the police station. Fright squeezes your chest as you look at Dr. Phillips.

“If you tell the truth, at best it’ll be considered self-defense, and breaking and entering. The sooner you tell the truth, and act like you have nothing to hide, they’ll more than likely believe you if there isn’t any physical evidence to go against it.”

“But it was—.”

“I know it was self-defense. At first. I’ll come with you inside.”

You look down and finally see the blood all over your clothes, and splattered all over your arms. The first couple of stabs would have been considered self-defense, but after that? All of that and you can’t even explain how Father Gordon killed Father Marlow and Quanisha. You don’t know what kind of ability Father Gordon might have had.

Dr. Phillips guides you into the station. At first, everyone is too busy to look up, but when one detective looks up and gasps, everyone looks up and stares, not knowing what to say. Your father’s partner is the first to recognize you, almost not believing that the Chief of Police’s daughter is covered in blood. He calls your name softly, but you don’t react at all. You don’t speak. It’s almost like you can’t, like none of this is happening. Like the body you’re in isn’t your own anymore. 

“Russell, she’s in shock and needs help. Take her to her father’s office and call him. This is the knife that was used to kill Father Gordon in self-defense.” The entire station gasps as Dr. Phillips takes out the knife and places it on a desk. “I’ll be staying until her father arrives.”

Russell nods and orders someone to call your father on his radio. He puts his arm around yours and leads you to your father’s office. “I’m sorry, but I have to take pictures for documentation. It’s part of my job.” Russell gets his camera and starts snapping pictures of your face, your clothes, and your hands and asks for you to slide up your sleeves so he can take some pictures of your arms. Through all of this, you don’t say a word. Russell goes out of the room and comes back with a damp cloth. “Here. You can use this to wipe the blood off.”

As you start wiping your hands, feeling a few ounces of disgust, and maybe remorse, you think about your father, and what he’ll think and say when he sees you like this. When he hears that you killed Father Gordon. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Russell asks behind you. You can hear him filling a small paper cup of water.

It takes a while for you to find your voice. “I found proof.” You want to talk, even if it’s against professional advice, but you didn’t want to talk about killing Father Gordon yet. It’s still too surreal. He’s dead. You’re not. You ended his life, but you don’t have any answers. At best, even if his altar is still intact, it would be considered “conspiracy to commit murder,” not manslaughter.

“Of what?”

“Father Gordon killed Father Marlow and Quanisha. I know what happened.” You feel a sudden buzz, and hear a click. When you turn around to look behind you, all you see is the barrel of a gun. 

_Bang!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aww, looks like you died. Go ahead and start over. I'm sure you'll make better choices the next time around._


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216527)
> 
> Upon learning that you've passed the Psy-Test, and are about to be smuggled out of your town, you decide to try and find Mr. Talbot, Quanisha's father, in order to get his side of the story.

Before you’re caught walking around in the middle of the night, being a minor and all with Winston-Salem having a strict curfew of nine-thirty in place, you decide to hide. You hurry, throw your bag and hop over the bushes, and lie flat on your stomach onto the soggy woodchips. The car crawls by, and you see the faint light of the headlights move through the bushes like a disorganized disco ball. It’s so tense that you hold your breath until the car completely passes you. You hesitantly peak from atop of the bushes and wait until the car is completely out of sight before you grab your bag and hurry to the bike path. It’s going to be a long night. 

After an hour of walking, and as hard as you try to keep up your motivation in the half-past three in the morning night air, your eyes are beginning to droop, and it’s hard staying awake or wanting to lay down somewhere. You look around and spy a building. When you cut across the grass to get there, you see it’s a bathroom. The area is the park reserve, and luckily no one checks the bathrooms often enough to at least lock the doors, so you take advantage and lock yourself in. Even if sleeping on the floor of an ill kempt bathroom sounds disgusting, it’s better than sleeping on a bench in the middle of open area where something of the mythological can prey on you. Even a feral dog would be dangerous to run into. Even though the bathroom smells of chlorine, the left over bowels from a toilet that doesn’t flush, alcohol, and cheap air freshener that just makes the smells worse, once you cover your nose and mouth with your jacket sleeve, place a folded sweater on the concrete ground where your hip would be, and close your eyes with your head laying on your bag, it’s surprisingly easy to fall in a light sleep. There are occasional shakes of the door that wake you up, but you dismiss it because the area is naturally very windy. 

It’s only when there is considerable pounding on the door an hour later that jars you awake and scared. You immediately stand up and look around for a weapon, but can’t find anything; however, you do take out your mace, and quietly stand a few steps away from the door, pretending to not be in the bathroom, and hope that whoever it is just goes away.

The pounding gets considerably rougher, and this time, there’s a voice to go with the fists. “Are you Ms. Upshaw?”

You feel the impulse to answer the question, but hold it in.

“Are you her? You were Quanisha’s friend, right? Is it really you?” 

The voice starts to sound familiar, but you’re too scared to trust it or to depend on your ability.

“I’m Quanisha’s father. Do you remember?” Your breathing hitches as you realize he does sound like Quanisha’s father, and he sounds frantic, like when he told you to run home that night three years ago. “You couldn’t forget, could you?”

Only Mr. Talbot would know that he told you to forget, and only he would know that you couldn’t. You slowly walk toward the door, flip the lock, and then quickly stand back to where you were with your mace in hand. 

The door is slowly pushed open, and there he is. It is Mr. Talbot, wearing the same face and body as that night, except with maybe a few more wrinkles. He breathes out a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t completely sure it was you,” he says a little shakily. “Your aura’s the same, but I couldn’t think of a single reason why you would run away.” Mr. Talbot has a warm, but sad, smile. “You don’t need to be scared of me, so, if you don’t mind, could you put that down?” He nods his head toward your canister of various chemicals for deterring would-be attackers.

“I can’t yet.” You hesitate in giving him your reason.

“OK. I can see you’re terrified. Your fear is probably jamming your ability, right?” Your eyes widen. “Quanisha told me. You two told each other almost everything, and she told me some things.” He unconsciously brings his fist to his chest and starts clearing his throat. “How about we go get something to eat, and when you’ve calmed down, you can fully assess me with your ability?”

“I don’t want to go back to Winston-Salem.”

He nods. “OK. We don’t have to go back there right now.”

You nod back slowly, and sling your bag on your shoulder, keeping your eyes and the spray pointing at him. Even though he’s convincing, in your mythology class, you’ve learned that there are creatures that can shape-shift and naturally read minds. It seems almost too uncanny that you happen to be looking for him, prepared to hike for twenty miles per day and search all of the mountains in the US, and possibly Canada if you had to, and he just shows up? There have been kids missing their deceased parents who fall prey to these kinds of monsters and end up dead on the side of the road or their bodies not found at all. Some species could read minds so quizzing them would be pointless, and at the moment, your mind is too jumbled to be able to tell if he really is Mr. Talbot or not. If you’re not careful, you could end up killed. The only positive news you could think of is that all of these creatures who use this ruse are solitary, so you only have one to deal with.

He steps back outside keeping his hands where you can see them. “My camp is nearby. We can eat and rest there, unless you don’t feel comfortable with that.”

You grind your teeth, trying to make the best possible decision, and you nod. “Just keep twenty paces ahead of me, and keep your hands up where I can see them.”

Mr. Talbot smiles. “Smart. You’ve learned well at that school. I’m glad for that, at least, considering who the principal is.” He slowly turns and starts walking, with you following about twenty feet behind him. The walk manages to calm you somewhat, but twigs snapping, owls hooting, or any other noises seems to stir up more anxiety. If the person leading you isn’t Mr. Talbot, it was a really bad idea to try running away at all. After a half hour walk, you see a circle of stones and a burnt out pit, but he clears it and starts rekindling a fire. There aren‘t any tents or blankets, the only other thing there is a bag that he opens and looks through. “I don’t have much, but I don’t mind sharing what I have with a friend.” He pulls out an iron cauldron and a box of broth out of the bag, and props it on a stand over the growing fire. Mr. Talbot removes his thick trench coat and sits on it in front of the fire, not even looking up to you.

You stand still, looking at the camp, looking around in general, trying to peer as far past the trees as you can, and carefully listening to the forest. When your heart stops pounding and your breathing evens out, you set your bag down and sit on top of it. That way, if you need to get up in a dash, you could instead of wasting time disentangling your legs or trying to find your balance. You look at Mr. Talbot, seeing him put herbs, what you suspect are roots of some kind, mushrooms, and some crudely chopped carrots and potatoes. To a homeless person, this would be considered the best meal ever, but with your list of questions zipping through your mind, and your unready willingness to trust the person in front of you, you’re not ready to eat a single spoonful of whatever is in the pot.

“I have some questions,” you utter.

He smiles as his eyes that matched Quanisha‘s hazel ones flickers up at you and back down at what he is doing. “I suspected you might. Ask as many questions as you would like.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t at first. I was patrolling the area, mostly to see if I could catch something like a squirrel, or a bird of some kind. Then I saw your aura from a distance. I don’t know if Quanisha has explained to you what shape-shifters are or can do, but all of us can see auras—it’s how we are able to distinguish ourselves from one another. Every person has an aura that is unique, like a colorful, swirling, fingerprint. From that distance, I could only see that the person was a young girl, and I suspected that you were just another runaway. Still, as I got closer, preparing to scare you back home, I recognized the pattern of your aura. I didn’t want to confront you yet because I was afraid you might have been followed, but you weren’t—not by any other human or creature—and I just had to confirm that it was you, and I see that it is. I’m glad I got to you before anyone, or anything, did.” He looks at you with earnest eyes, and you can feel that he’s telling the truth. The vibrations coming off of him while he was telling his story didn’t even quiver. 

You put the mace into your jacket pocket, making him smile, but you can’t seem to return it, even though you’re relieved to have actually found him. Dr. Phillips and the prospect of leaving Winston-Salem returns to your mind, and it feels like not anything could bring a smile to your face.

“I’m glad you believe me.”

“Why are you still here? I would have thought that, after what happened to Quanisha, you all would have been miles away by now, but you’re at a nearby reserve?”

His smile withers. “It’s only me here. The rest left, just like you suspected, but I can’t leave. Like you, I need answers. There is still so much I need to know about that night, but the people of Winston-Salem. . . . They don‘t understand. I couldn‘t let them examine her body and because of that, we all saw their auras were full of loathing and distrust. Death, for shape-shifters, is almost like freedom, except you‘re not able to live anymore. It’s a both happy and sad time. I was afraid that if anyone touched her, if the transformation was interrupted somehow, a shape-shifter‘s soul—Quanisha’s soul—would have been lost, but even with all of my haste. . . .”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself. Even though you had only met him a few times, he always seemed so serious so you never talked with him personally. Now . . . now he looks lost. “You were supposed to have come to our home for a sleepover, but you were both late, so I walked toward your home, but when I got to the church I felt Quanisha’s presence, and I felt her fear. I rushed inside the church and saw them both. Father Marlow, the priest that Quanisha supposedly killed, was lying dead with a dagger through his chest, and . . . ,” Mr. Talbot starts clearing his throat again before doing his best to continue the story, “Quanisha. It was too late to do anything for her. There was so much blood, and I saw that she was beginning to transform already. I called for my brethren,” he pointed to his temple indicating it was a telepathic kind of call, “and they came with the sacred shroud, and we quickly took her away. I stayed behind a little because I was concerned that you had been killed also, but when I saw you in your pajamas outside of the church, looking confused, I told you to hurry home because I didn’t want you to be in danger. I told you to forget about Quanisha because I didn’t want you to get yourself in any danger in the future. But I guess that wasn’t an option for either of us. I had to stay behind to answer to the police, and escape from them, but when I got to our clan’s burial ground, it was obvious that something of Quanisha‘s had been taken. Her transformation had been interrupted, and now her soul cannot rest. She‘ll forever be stuck in a form that is truly not hers.”

You remember a conversation that you and Quanisha had had about her shape-shifting ability, and what it all meant. According to her, the story went that nature, with its ever-changing cycles, eventually created the first shape-shifter—the purest for there was only one and could only mate with other species, which created other sorts of shape-shifter species through evolution and natural selection. With all of “the purest’s” mating and shape-shifting, it eventually forgot what it truly looked like, or even if it was a he or she. No one knows if the purest shape-shifter died, but his, or her, children that died had undergone a transformation, so was presumed to be the individual’s “purest” form. Quanisha had been pretty vague on the details due to being in a secretive clan and not quite knowing what was safe to tell and what was not, but Mr. Talbot had filled in a lot of holes. She did say that she hadn’t been particularly looking forward to the day she would die because she liked living, but it didn’t stop her from feeling what all shape-shifters felt occasionally: skewed and out of place. It makes you sad, that even though death would have meant her freedom, she was being kept from it. 

“Is there any way to fix it? To get whatever was taken back to her?”

He shakes his head. “It’s never been done before, so I don’t know. I hope so, but if I don’t know what was taken, I don’t know what to give back to her.”

You both pause. “Father Gordon lied that night.”

“I know.”

“How? How do you know?”

“Because Father Marlow has Quanisha’s imprint on him.”

“‘Imprint’? What’s that, and what does that have to do with Father Gordon lying?”

“When creatures die, their souls leave something behind. It’s similar to auras, but fainter, and can come in all sorts of different forms. Usually, if the soul was peaceful, and if the death wasn’t violent, wherever the remains are buried, plants are able to grow in a spectacular way or birds or certain insects are attracted to that one spot. However, if the death was violent, like suicide or murder, the soul leaves something else behind. The spot where the suicide took place becomes a circle of sadness. People are unconsciously avoiding that spot, or people are more often to cry without any reason when they are standing over it. A murdered soul, on the other hand, is something quite different. Because the soul wants justice or revenge for their untimely deaths, they force their murderer’s soul to carry something of their own soul. It could take the shape of a peculiar discoloration in the person’s aura, or a strong taste, or a sound with no source, pins and needles, it could be anything. Because shape-shifters are living on the border of life and death, we are very aware of these imprints.”

“So, if Father Marlow has Quanisha’s imprint, you’re saying Father Marlow killed Quanisha?” You’re confused. It’s not because Mr. Talbot wasn’t clear with the explanation about imprints, but because as far as you can remember, you’ve always liked Father Marlow. He was nice, and he didn’t take his position so seriously. He actually liked your jokes and questions, and it was to the point you used to actually look forward to going to church just to pull him aside and ask. Along with Quanisha, you were also sad about Father Marlow’s death. It didn’t make sense that he would kill Quanisha. You would have sensed that he was bad, or had ill feelings about something, but you never sensed anything of the sort.

“Unfortunately, that’s what it looks like. I also saw that he committed suicide very soon after he had struck Quanisha. He carried his own imprint. When I told you to run, and when Father Gordon came out of the church, when he looked at you, I saw he was angry. Very angry. Nothing about it made sense, and it made less sense when he claimed that Quanisha came in the church to kill him—accusing him of racism when he had done nothing of the sort to any of us. He was always very kind to us even though we weren‘t a part of his sanction. He embraced peace with a full heart.” He takes a wooden spoon out of the bag, uses a rag to pull the lid off of the cauldron, and stirs the contents of the pot. All of this talking is obviously making him upset. You keep swallowing the lump in your throat.

“What about you?” Mr. Talbot asks. “Why are you out here?”

“I was actually trying to find you. Father Gordon made me take the Psychic Exam, and I tested positive. They want me to leave Winston-Salem, but I don’t want to. Not without answers or more clues at least. I wanted to hear your side of things mainly, because I thought you had actually seen what happened, or how Father Gordon orchestrated all of this.”

“If Father Gordon was involved that night, I don’t know how he did it.” Mr. Talbot pauses. “You were in your pajamas. Were you not going to come to our home that night?”

You shake your head. “I had a slight fever and my parents didn’t want me to come down with something worse, but I had a bad feeling after she left so I snuck out.”

He slowly nods. “Good.” You understand his one worded response. He’s glad you weren’t killed along with Quanisha. Mr. Talbot checks on his cauldron, and takes out a couple of wooden bowls. “I am sorry if it tastes bitter, but it is better than most other things I have eaten.” His smile brings the corners of your lips twitching upwards. After you both finish the slightly bitter, slightly musky bowls of soup, he asks, “What are you going to do now that you’ve found me and heard what I have to say?”

To be honest, you hadn’t thought that far ahead, not having had planned to talk to Mr. Talbot so soon. It was pure luck that he had found you so quickly. “I’m not sure. My parents will want me to go to wherever Dr. Phillips is going to take me—.”

“Did you say ‘Dr. Phillips’?” You nod. “Does he look like this?” His face starts to change—his cheekbones become more defined, his nose and ears grow larger, his stubble reabsorbs into his skin that sags and wrinkles—until he looks precisely like Dr. Phillips. You don’t know whether to be disgusted because it looked like worms had been squirming under his skin, or to be in total awe and fascination. “I’m assuming I look like your Dr. Phillips?” You nod again, having trouble finding the words. When he starts to morph back, you look away until it became safe to look at him again. “Go with Dr. Phillips.”

“Why?” You exclaim. First your parents, and then Quanisha’s father, of all people, tell you to go with this person to who-knows-where? “Don’t you want to know what happened to Quanisha? Father Gordon knows! If I leave—.”

“If you leave with Dr. Phillips, you will be safe!” Mr. Talbot’s deep yell frightens you, and he straightens his voice before continuing. “I know a lot of people. I’ve talked to a lot of people. I had wondered what happened to one of my coworkers, and drove to his lab to ask him myself what goes on in the Psychic Exam and the facilities his company owns. He’s genuine. He’ll help you. In fact, he’s studying all he can about Quanisha’s and Father Marlow’s death. If there’s anyone who will help you solve this, it’s him. Not me. There are other reliable people who trust him as well. I apologize for scaring you. Please rest here; I‘ll keep watch. Tomorrow I will escort you back to Winston-Salem.” Mr. Talbot doesn’t leave room for arguments, so you lay down on your bag with the fire keeping you warm. You’re so tired that sleep seems to welcome you.

When you wake up, the sun is already high in the sky, and Mr. Talbot had already replaced his cookware into his bag and hid it. He smiles a smile you don’t think he had done in a long time. You stretch and hide behind some trees and bushes to change your clothes, hopefully not smelling like BO or that awful bathroom floor. Mr. Talbot and you also stop by that bathroom so you can brush your teeth before you head back to town. Both of you talk on the way, mainly about your school, and what you’ve learned so far. He adds on to your mythology creature knowledge significantly and you absorb as much as you can. If only it was Mr. Talbot teaching the class and not old and cranky Mrs. Grayson whom had claimed to have been in a war, but you always suspected that she was fibbing on some of the details. You paid attention, but only to correct the stories that she continually retold to her class with slight variations of the facts each time she told it, and not so much to the class lessons itself. She doesn’t like you because of those corrections by the way, and periodically made you wash the desks at lunch or after school for disrupting the learning environment.

When you got close to the city border, he said he couldn’t come any closer. “If you’re seen with me, you’ll be in danger. Please, please go with Dr. Phillips. I guarantee he’s still there in town somewhere. Find him, and go with him.” He takes a few steps backwards and stands there, intending to watch you walk back into town. You do, but you also have other thoughts besides the possibility of returning to Dr. Phillips.

* * *

_If you decide to hide out and sneak into Father Gordon’s home, go to[Chapter 4.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216668)_

_If you decide to find Dr. Phillips, go to[Chapter 22.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20421427)_


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313694)  
> Chapter 21

Despite your lungs burning you try your best not to stop running. It’s adamant that you reach the police station and tell your father what you found. You have proof that Father Gordon isn’t as pure as he claims, and he tried to strangle you to death. The bruises would make a slam-dunk assault case. There’s absolutely nothing for you to be afraid of anymore. Father Gordon will go to jail and never have a position of priesthood again. Just thinking about it makes you want to smile, but your lungs are hurting too much for that.

You storm into the police station and ask the nearest officer for your father, Chief of Detective Bradley Upshaw, and that you wouldn’t talk to anyone but him. The detective immediately starts calling your father on the radio as soon as you asked, specifically because you are his daughter, and you make sure to hide the brush and braid out of sight. “Your father should be coming in soon,” the detective states.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Before the detective can say anything else, a hand lands on your shoulder from behind, startling you. You turn around and recognize your father’s partner, Russell. “What are you doing here?” he asks with a side-ways smile

“I just need to talk to Dad.”

“Come on. I’ll take you to your father’s office.” He nods to the detective you had talked to and allow Russell to escort you to your father’s office. The chair you sit in doesn’t bring good memories since it’s usually where your father would ground you or threaten to put you into the henhouse for a few hours with the creepy drunkards. Still, this time, there is a good reason for you to be sitting in the chair.

“Would you like some water?” Russell asks you.

“Yes, please.” Water sounds like heaven for your parched throat.

He walks behind you and you hear him fill a paper cup of water while you look around the office some more. It’s a familiar place to you—the smell of lemon Pine-Sol, the awards hanging on the wall along with framed newspaper clippings of his achievements, his desk with folders of cases stacked neatly, his boxy computer, and of course the framed photograph of you, mom, and him posing on his desk. The room is obsessively neat, and yet the house is a mess—particularly the bedroom area. Your mom is the one who frequently cleans the bedroom.

You thank Russell when he hands you the Dixie paper cup and drink up.

“So what’s happening?”

“Just need to talk to Dad, Detective Russell.”

He sits on the corner of your dad’s desk, something you know your dad would hate, and says, “Maybe I can help?”

You think about it, but decide to decline. Even though you’ve known Russell since you were in kindergarten, your father should be the first to know. “Sorry, this is father-daughter important. No offense.”

He raises his hands up in defense and laughs. “Alright, alright.” He looks up over you out of the indoor window and hears his phone ring. “I’ll be right back.” True to his word, a few minutes later, right as you’re refilling your cup for a second helping of water, you hear the door open and close. You look up, and, indeed it’s Russell, but you instantly notice something is not the same. The usual joshing Russell has a deadly serious facial expression that creates a chill. He charges at you, making you drop the cup and try to run, but he catches you. Russell wraps his arm around your neck, preventing you from screaming, and puts his hand on your head. With a sudden lurch, all you’re able to register is hearing a sickening _crack!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aww, it looks like you died. Go ahead and start over. I'm sure you'll make better choices in the future._


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20217169)
> 
> After being smuggled to Fintan's Academy, a school in Holland, Michigan for beings with extra supernatural abilities, you've chosen to go to your dorm to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, you are allowed to choose up to two letters per set, and to record every single answer by love interest name, not letter.

On the way to your dorm room, Principal Rhoda gives you some immediate guidance when socializing with your peers. Since you’re human, you should obviously stay away from things whose diet does include humans, although this school doesn’t allow any species with an all-human diet, just as human students aren’t allowed to eat any of the other beings. If such a being should interact with you, she suggests trying to be friendly first, because you never know, but if things do turn for the worst, find your friends or a teacher. Vice Principal Ymir gruffly adds that just because most humans are frail and usually don’t have any aggressive psychic or magical abilities, it doesn’t mean that anyone would go easy on you. The rest of the advice given was about basic etiquette, and then the conversation turned to school customs such as seasonal festivals, when you can use the phones for personal use, what you should do if you get hurt or injured, and that fights wouldn’t be tolerated.

“Do you see those statues hanging from the center of the cross arch of the ceiling?” Vice Principal Ymir asks pointing a finger up which barely passes above her head.

Still walking, you look up and see the gangly bat-like stone statues, and all the ones, lined up each in the center of where the cross arches meet further down the hall. You had also seen similar ones on the outside of the school, and near the windows. “They’re gargoyles, right?”

“Yes, very good. These gargoyles act as surveillance cameras even when they are stone. That means that you can’t get away with much, if anything, here. Keep that in mind when you plan your mischief.”

> **A.** “Good to know,” you say lightly, not that you really were planning on pulling off any practical jokes at the moment. 
> 
> **B.** “I’ll be sure to take note of that,” you mumble. It’ll be hard to have any fun around this school. 
> 
> **C.** At least if I get killed here, the person who did it will surely be caught. 
> 
> **D.** Darn! There goes the chance that I’ll be able to sneak out of this place! 
> 
> **E.** So I’ll be watched 24/7. Talk about creepy. 
> 
> **F.** Pfft! Those will be easy to get around, especially at night! 
> 
> **G.** Well if the thought of twenty-four hour surveillance isn’t enough of a deterrent, their ugly faces sure would be.
> 
> **H.** “Wow, actual gargoyles? I’ve never seen any close up. I wonder what kind of stone they turn into, or if their muscles and organs and stuff just compact and harden up?” 

Both of the principals guide you down several corridors and buildings, and finally reach the stairs that leads to the female dormitory. “If you have any questions regarding the dormitory, phones, your roommate, dormitory hours, or just about anything, just ask your matriarch, Mrs. Brancherd,” Principal Rhoda says, guiding you to the door next to the stairs with “Residential Adviser” nailed to it. “This is her office, just go in and ring the bell, and she’ll get you all settled.”

You step in the room, immediately shielding your eyes from the slowly rising sun, pouring in from the French windows and step up to the desk. On the counter over the desk is a large black iron bell mounted on a circular frame. Almost dubious about ringing this large bell, you look around on the counter and look over the desk to see that there isn’t a smaller office bell. It’s still early in the morning, and it would probably be wiser to not wake so many people up. Especially ones with humans on their diet menu. Seeing as there isn’t another bell, and not wanting to wait until Mrs. Brancherd—whatever she is—gets up, you cautiously grasp the handle and start tipping the bell.

You stop at the first few deep resonating rings and wait. After a few minutes, there isn’t any sign of a response, so you start ringing again. Again, stopping after only a few rings of the bell’s hammer. When there still isn’t any response, you ring the bell again, not stopping until the back door slams open.

“What is it now, you grubs?” Mrs. Brancherd yells with a high pitched voice that pierces your ears and is heavily rasped. You can’t see her over the back counter and you have to wait until she reaches her desk before you can look over the front counter to see her. “Well?” she states loudly, expecting an answer from you.

“I’m a new stu—.”

“Speak up, I can’t hear you.” The way she talks reminds you of Jessica’s granny who constantly forgets to turn on her hearing aids.

You try again. Louder, this time, and you talk slowly so she can read you lips just in case she misses any words; although you aren’t sure how much good that would do since her brow bone seems to slump over most of her eyes. “I’m a new student. Principal Rhoda told me to come here. I would like to know where my room is.”

“Stop talking like that, you grub. I’m hard of hearing, not retarded. She shuffles to a file cabinet and stands on a stool. She isn‘t short, but she has a hump on her back seemingly from slouching, but you aren‘t quite sure since she seems to resemble a tree with her hair being bundled bare twigs, and her wrinkles and skin like bark. If she had kept a good posture, or had grown straighter, she probably would have reached six or seven feet. “What’s your name?” When you tell her your name, she clicks her tongue in irritation, and steps down from the stool to pull out the bottom drawer. “A human, eh? Oh, good. You’re not another one of those fire-starters.” She continues to grumble through your file until she finds your room number. 

Then she walks to another cabinet and stands on a step-stool to retrieve a couple of trifles. Mrs. Brancherd shuffles back to you and hands you a skeleton key and an embroidered cloth pin that‘s bigger than the palm of your hand. It’s white with a ten-pointed star lined in black. Over the star, in the center is what looks to be a yin-yang circle, but instead of black and white commas, there are three commas with the third being gray. On the left and right side of the yin-yang symbol are silver crescent moons, and above the yin-yang is a yellow crescent with a red cross standing in the bowl.

“Come on, your room is this way.” You both exit the office and head up the stairs. When she seems to have some trouble, you offer your help, but she gruffly denies your assistance. 

“What is this pin?” you ask making sure that you speak loudly.

“What? What did you say?”

“I said, ‘What is this pin?’” you ask louder.

“Quit talking so loud. I heard you that time.” She exhales in exasperation. “That pin lets your peers and the school staff know what you are so they know how to deal with you. It’s required that you wear it on school grounds, and if you lose it, you have to pay for another one within a week. You don’t have to wear it when you’re on your own time off campus, but you do have to wear it while on the school’s field trips off campus. Get it?”

> **A.** “I don’t like the badge or the reason why, but if I have to wear it, I have to wear it.”
> 
> **B.** “So I have to wear a badge to school. OK.”
> 
> **C.** “Sure. Now I can easily identify the beings that can eat me, but now the predators know where to find their food. Great.”
> 
> **D.** “The badge is pretty neat. I like all the religious symbols incorporated into it.”
> 
> **E.** “Yep. I understand.”
> 
> **F.** “So, in other words, it’s just another means of racial segregation.”
> 
> **G.** “What, you can’t just ask me what I am?”
> 
> **H.** “Huh. I wonder what the other badges look like, and what the significance of the image means.”

“What is it that you said?” Mrs. Brancherd asks gruffly, turning to you with a raised brow and a menacing glare.

“I understand.”

When you reach your room number, Mrs. Brancherd summarizes the dormitory rules, to make sure that it is kept clean, not to shower or bathe from after midnight to six in the morning, not to let males stay over after eight PM and such, and shuffles back, presumably to her room in the back of her office. She makes sure to add, “Keep yourself out of trouble, and stay out of my room, you grub!” before she is out of your sight.

You go into your new room and you immediately lock the door behind you, more so no one disturbs you when you‘re sleeping, but also so nothing tries to eat you. As much as Principal Rhoda tried to reassure you that it is strictly prohibited that students eat each other, it still gave you shakes and shivers just thinking that a predator may be in the room next door. Since she also advised you to keep your distance from those kinds of beings, she wouldn’t pair you up with one of them to be your roommate, would she? 

The room is heavily cluttered with clothes lying around, plants overgrowing their pots and spilling over the windowsills, and you even spy an ant farm on one of the two desks. The other desk has papers and journals stacked on them. When you attempt to walk over to the bunk bed, you trip over something that scrapes at your leg. You don’t know how, but it turns out that the goblins had made it to your room with your bags, and you hadn’t come across them once while on your way to your room.

This morning has been too hectic, and you are thankful that your roommate isn’t here so you could just focus on sleeping. Whether it is your bed or not, you take the top bunk and try to sleep. As you’re drifting off, you think . . . 

> **A.** Gosh darn, my roommate is messy! I hate sleeping when the room is so cluttered.
> 
> **B.** I’m pretty messy too. I’m actually probably messier than my roommate is.
> 
> **C.** How should I go about talking to my roommate about the mess. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Or for her to hurt me.
> 
> **D.** From all the journals and the ant farm, she’s probably a really smart person.
> 
> **E.** Nice. The bed’s warm.
> 
> **F.** Sleep now, lecture roommate later. If she isn’t anything that would eat or hurt me.
> 
> **G.** Oh well, a little clutter never hurt anybody. The goblins did more harm by putting my bags on the floor in front of the door.
> 
> **H.** I wonder what my roommate is like. I hope she likes me. What are goblins again, exactly?

* * *

_Bits and pieces of your memories flash by one right after the other. The first time you met Quanisha on your solo night hike, you were too scared to move away from a tree, the darkness played tricks on you, made you see shapes that weren’t there, and made you hear things of what you thought were predators, but was simply the wind. You had been alone in the dark, and it terrified you, but Quanisha had heard you, and helped you through your fear. The next day, you both realized that your camp sites were right next to each other and you had stuck to her like glue when you could. The camp staff had to separate you from her in order to keep track. Once back from camp, you two hung out at various places around Winston-Salem, open to each other and open to everyone who could see you. Your friendship wasn’t a secret._

_The more prominent memory was the promise you two had made to each other as you made your knot bracelets, each weaving a few strands of your own hair into the embroidery floss. As you chant, your promise of always being together no matter what almost seemed like a spell. The more you chanted it, the more it became real, like you were bound to each other. When you complete your bracelet, you tie off the knot and intend to give it to Quanisha, but a spark lands on it, igniting it. It burns you, forcing you to let the bracelet go where it disappears in a pool of darkness._

_As you frantically dig through the dark, calling Quanisha’s name, feeling your throat close with anxiety, and feeling a weight on your chest, you finally grab onto the bracelet and yank it out to have the deformed arm unearth with it. It frightens you. You want to unearth Quanisha, but you feel the fear of wondering what she might have looked like. Was she still Quanisha, your best friend, or did she disappear when she had changed into her “purest” self through her death all those years ago?_

_When you decide to continue digging, the bracelet that had caught on fire started burning Quanisha’s arm with furious energy. You try to put it out with the dark that felt like wet soil, and when you try to unearth her again, you unearth a face instead. When you brush more of the dark off, you realize it’s Father Gordon._

_Suddenly, his eyes open wide and he grabs onto the collar of your shirt, choking you. He starts to say something, but you’re too frightened and keep calling out for Quanisha to help you. You can vaguely hear someone else call your name, but you are too scared to open your eyes within your dream._

* * *

You awaken with fright when something sharply hits your chest. When you finally get your bearings, convincing yourself that you are out of your nightmare, you see a big long-haired black cat with brilliant orange eyes stare at you from on top of your shins. “Did you jump on me?” you ask when you catch your breath. Of course you don’t expect an answer, but you had to ask anyway, to make sure that your surroundings are, in fact, real.

The cat comes up to you and starts to rub his face on the hand that is over your chest forcing you to pet him. You raise your hand over the cat’s head, and it rubs its head, along with bending its body against your hand in a serpentine way of telling you that it wants you to pet down his body. It’s almost like the cat is starving for your attention.

Someone groans from below you, and you look over the side of your bunk to see someone face-down on the floor of your room. 

> **A.** You immediately climb down and ask if the person is OK.
> 
> **B.** You stay where you are, and ask casually, “Hey, you OK?” When you don’t get an immediate answer, you take your time climbing down.
> 
> **C.** You’re scared at first, remembering that the person could be one of those predators. Nervously, you ask if they are OK, but when you don’t get an audible answer, you hesitantly climb down.
> 
> **D.** You climb down and ask how this person is while placing a light hand on their shoulder.
> 
> **E.** You step down the bunk ladder and kneel beside the person on the floor wondering what to do, and eventually decide to just rub the person’s back.
> 
> **F.** “Hey! Who the heck are you?” you demand from the top of the bunk. The person on the floor doesn’t answer immediately, so you climb down. The person seems too pitiful to actually be able to hurt you, so you sit on the bottom bunk and ask if the person is OK.
> 
> **G.** “Hey, you OK there?” You climb down from the top bunk and sit on the bottom bunk to wait for the person to come to. “If you tripped over my bags, blame the goblins.”
> 
> **H.** “Oh, gosh! Are you OK? Are you hurt? Is there anything I can do?” When you don’t receive an answer, you climb down and start moving the person’s shoulder, continually asking how the person is feeling.

Trying to get her own bearings, the person tries to turn on her back, with her head lolling about, black eyes crossing and rotating lazily. Her appearance is quite ghostly with her freckle-less fair skin and her pixie-cut silvery-white hair. Her eyebrows seem to blend flawlessly into her skin. Her strong angled jaw along with her purple and gray striped sweater tucked into her denim overalls makes her look like a boy—even younger since she doesn’t even reach five feet tall.

You run your palm along her forehead, checking for any signs of fever, but feel her cool skin.

“I’m OK,” she says, trying to reassure you. “Everything’s just tipping and spinning right now.” Her voice has a high edge to it, like a little boy’s just before they hit puberty. 

“Do you need anything?” you ask.

The cat jumps straight down from the top bunk with a resounding thump, and starts rubbing his face and body along her face, and then does the same to your arm, switching from you to her.

“Is this cat yours?”

She starts to sit up, spitting out long cat hair onto her hand. “No. We’re not allowed to have pets. I think it’s just a stray that wanders around, but it seems to like our room since our room faces the sunrise. I don‘t know how he keeps coming in though.” When she seems to be able to see straight, she looks right at you, and her eyes widen with an epiphany. “Your name’s Upshaw, right? The principal told me last night that I would be getting a new roommate soon, but I didn’t think it would be this soon, so I’m sorry that the room is still a mess. I’ll clean it up right away, but anyway my name’s Alexandra, though I prefer Zandra, but if you want to call me Ally, or Alex or anything, really, that’s quite OK. I heard you’re from North or South Carolina–I totally forgot which one, I’m sorry–but what’s it like over there? Are the people nice? What about the demographics? I find it fascinating that the ethnicity percentage is different from state to state and even from city to city, and I always wonder why that is so I’ve been working on mapping everything, but it’s kind of hard to do even with all of these books and . . . I am so sorry. People have said that I ramble and talk too much. I didn‘t put you off, did I?”

Despite all of her questions, you can tell, even without your ability, that Zandra seems to be a nice person. Perhaps a little too eager, but nice. To distract her from her question, you ask, “What happened to you? Why were you on the floor?”

One side of her mouth stretches into a frown, and she looks off to the side away from you. “I didn’t mean to,” she starts. “I didn’t know you were here at school yet, let alone sleeping, so it took me by surprise. It’s hard to control, even when I know someone is sleeping in the same room, and I’m trying, it’s just hard, and it’s even harder to stay out of people’s dreams when I’m also sleeping—.”

“Wait, wait, are you saying that you were in the dream I was just having?”

She nods her head, still looking guilty. “I’m sorry, about Quanisha. She . . . she’s not around anymore, is she?”

Either you were screaming in your sleep, or it’s proof of her ability, but either way, mentioning Quanisha is like a smack on the shoulder. “Yeah, she passed away a few years ago.” Zandra doesn’t need to know how or what the dream means. You only hope that you don’t have that dream again, and that Zandra doesn’t walk into any other of your dreams. “So is that your psychic ability, or is it something you can already do? You’re not . . . human, right?” You aren’t sure if that is the most sensitive way of asking what someone is, but you have to know.

Luckily for you, Zandra smiles, showing that no offense has been taken by your question. “Despite what my badge shows, I am part human, along with half shtriga, and part strigoi vii, which are vampires.” Her badge is pinned on one of her overall straps portraying a moon background with a purple feminine figure with her mouth open showing her elongated canine teeth, and blood spilling out. This figure also has moth wings that are gray blended with brown and has a bright red hollow circle on the upper corner of the wing. “Don’t worry though. I actually can’t stand the sight of someone’s blood. I’m fine with seeing my blood, for the most part, but I don’t like to get my energy from blood even though that’s the easiest way of getting energy. You see, the reason why most vampires drink blood is that it’s the easiest way of receiving other people’s energy, and the reason why we need to get energy from other people is because vampires can’t retain or restore their own energy like humans can. I’m part human so I can restore my own energy, but it takes a long time, so I do sometimes take other people’s energy, but it’s through touch, a sort of physical-slash-psychic channel that allows me to connect with your energy and take as much as I need, but I would prefer only taking it after asking for permission, of course, and I only take a little of it. Not so much that it would hurt or hinder you unless I was desperate, but that hardly ever happens. There are lots of other ways of getting energy, but blood drinking and touching are the easiest; however, like I said before, I don’t like the sight, let alone the taste, of blood, so being roommates shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Right.”

“So what can you do? Since you’re human, you either have a psychic ability or you have a strong practice with magick, right?”

“I don’t know what area of parapsychology my power is, but it’s mostly that I can tell when a person is lying, or if they are someone I can trust. The latter seems more like a gut instinct, though.”

“Oh, so you’re basically a low-level empath. That power sounds handy.”

“Only if I can physically prove that the person is lying.”

“That’s true. Bummer. Hey, does that mean that you know you can trust me?”

“Yes, you do seem trustworthy.”

Her expression brightens. “I just had breakfast, but are you hungry?” 

* * *

_Read your results, and then go to[Chapter 10.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20293132)_

* * *

### If you chose mostly A’s . . . you got Markus!

He hasn’t realized that you’ve been smuggled out of town yet, but he has heard that you had to take the Psy-Tests . . . and that you passed. Him and Jessica both have heard, and trust me, they aren’t happy that you’ve been hiding your secret from them, but don’t worry. You still have a chance to fix your friendship. If you make the right choices.

### If you chose mostly B’s . . . you got Kallan!

You haven’t met her yet, but do know that she doesn’t have any ill-will against humans in general; however, at this point, she would rather keep her distance. Just to be on the safe side. Hey, at least you aren’t a guy. Then it would be you who would want to keep your distance.

### If you chose mostly C’s . . . you got Bala!

You haven’t met this guy yet, but you will soon. Whether he starts out as an enemy or friend, depends on your choice in the next few chapters.

### If you chose mostly D’s . . . you got Iona!

You haven’t met her yet, and she hasn’t seen you yet, so she hasn’t formed any opinion. Her ancestry is wrought with human connections, so she’s neutral foremost. 

### If you chose mostly E’s . . . you got Zandra!

She’s really afraid that she has imposed on your privacy since she knows that she saw something she wasn’t supposed to. Trying to suppress her ever-growing curiosity is hard, but she really wants to be friends with you, and she wants you to know that she’s trying really hard to not seem nosy. And when I say that she’s trying really hard, I mean she’s trying really, really, really, excruciatingly hard.

### If you chose mostly F’s . . . you got Cash!

You haven’t met this Casanova yet, but he already knows about you, even before you stepped into Fintan’s Academy, and trust me, he’s all too eager to meet you . . . and claim you as his own.

### If you chose mostly G’s . . . you got Savvy!

Believe it or not, you’ve already met him face to face, but I’m not going to spoil his fun, or your embarrassment. You’re going to have to figure it out. 

### If you chose mostly H’s . . . you got Varick!

You’ve met him—well, you saw him—in the cathedral. What he was doing there, hopefully you’ll find out, but he is already interested in you. Or, rather, he’s interested in whatever has been following you, to be more specific. What? You didn’t know that something was following you?


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 9](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20292544)  
> [Chapter 34](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20421427)
> 
> You've safely arrived at Fintan's Academy, a school in Holland, Michigan for beings with extra supernatural abilities, and you've just met your roommate, Zandra, who is now going to show you the cafeteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, you are allowed to choose up to two letters per multiple choice set, and be sure to record every answer you choose by love interest name rather than letter.

“So here’s the cafeteria.” Zandra opens one of the double-doors and there’s more activity than you expect or are prepared for. Almost no one is in glamour so you see just how much diversity this school supports. There are some that do naturally have human shapes, or can naturally shape-shift into a human-like form for easier maneuverability through the crowd, but the color of their eyes or skin, a set of horns, or backwards limbs give them away. Those that don’t have a natural human form, or can’t shape-shift on their own, are in full colors and shapes with nothing to hide. Back home, even though beings were allowed within the city limits, they kept to themselves. It was as if the town was split in two, so you never really got to know anyone else besides Quanisha. There’s a weight of intimidation on your chest. "There are three separate cafeterias we can use, but there's only one in use during the summer since most of the students go home during breaks."

“Are the students allowed to eat outside of the cafeteria?” You try to sound curious about the school’s eating policy rather than have the question sound like you want to bolt out of there.

“Yes. Anywhere except for the Rose room, which is the cathedral part of the school with the rose window, the classrooms, library, the dormitory halls, but you can eat in our rooms, or the cemetery, which is out back. Make sure you clean up after yourself or the teachers will hound you and you’ll be limited to only eating in the cafeteria.

“Now, on to how you get your food. It’s a little confusing at first, but it’s really quite simple. You get in that line,” she points to the left side of the massive room of stone walls and linoleum tile floors, “the person behind the register takes a look at your badge and gives you your human’s choice of menu. Then you go to that line,“ she points to another line adjacent to the first line forming on the wall opposite of where you two are standing, “and order, stating that you’re new here. You’ll tell him your name then your choice of food. He’ll give you a card with your name and number, and then you wait around until your number is called and get your food over there,” she points to the booth right next to the place you would order your food. “Understand?” 

> **A.** “Say that again?”
> 
> **B.** “Oh! It’s kind of like the deli place back home. I wonder what the menu will be like.”
> 
> **C.** “Oh, yeah. Very simple.” You then think, I don’t have a clue.
> 
> **D.** You call that simple?
> 
> **E.** I’m sure I can figure it out, you think.
> 
> **F.** “I kind of get it, but I’m sure I can figure out the bits that I don‘t get.”
> 
> **G.** I’m sure I can just ask someone while I’m in line. No big deal, you think.
> 
> **H.** “It’s a little different from back home, but I get it. I’ll be fine.”

As you take your first steps into the rowdy mass of beings towards the first line, Zandra stops you. “I wouldn’t go just yet. You see the last person in line?” She bobs her head in that direction.

The being is tall, as tanned as burnt peanut brittle, and rippled with muscle under his shawl with a human-like torso, but a steer’s head, complete with horns that had the tips cut like the Spanish bulls for matadors, and a bull’s legs and tail.

“That’s a minotaur, part of the chimera section in your survival guide. He’s not bad or anything, minotaurs are rather quite peaceful, but it will be bad if you insult him because they have short fuses; however that’s not why you shouldn’t get in line yet.” Zandra closes a hand over your ear and whispers, “His gas is pretty rank.” She backs up and continues, “It could make flies drop.”

You nod your head with a thankful smile. “I’ll wait.”

“Alright, I’m going back to the library, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to avoid the bad ones. Your empathy ability should help you discern which from the rest, but still . . . be careful. Even the good ones can be dangerous if rubbed the wrong way.” She gives you a smile and heads toward the library.

As comforting as Zandra tries to make it, her words sound as if she’s saying to stay away from beings you don’t know anything about. A wise, but very isolating statement because the only beings that you know are the ones that pray on humans, whom you’ve decided to stay away from at all cost, shape-shifters, who probably wouldn‘t go to this school even with an invitation to come visit, and other human beings, even though the point of coming here, besides learning more about your empathic ability, is to make friends outside of your species. You had tried to get to know others from home, but after three years ago, they didn’t want anything to do with humans. It had become practically impossible.

When you tried making conversation with some of the beings in glamour at their work, they stuck to protocol and avoided idle chitchat. You asked how they are, and they asked you if that was all you wanted. They wanted nothing to do with humans and avoided them as much as possible.

You stand next to the door just in case there’s trouble, and observe other tables while you wait for the minotaur to pass. For the most part, it seems that people stay close to their own species, or, at the very least, their cousin species, but there are tables that seem ragtag; however they don’t really converse with each other. It’s obvious that it’s not going to be easy to make friends outside of your species, even here.

“Excuse me?” You look to your left and see a guy of about average height wearing a straw cattleman hat that seems to sit on his bushy black eyebrows, a T-shirt, an unbuttoned flannel shirt, and loose jeans with work boots: the picture of a farm-hand, except his skin is a deep olive instead of the stereotypical image of a white redneck. As discretely as you can, peak at his badge. 

Human. Good.

“Hi?” you greet, unsure of the possible outcome. Because of your close relationship with Quanisha, and her clan’s reputation after her murder, you weren’t exactly popular with the human species either. Jessica and Markus were your friends because you knew them long before you met Quanisha.

“Are you alone?” The expression on his face shows bewilderment and suspicion.

“My friend went to the library. She’ll be back when she can.”

His face turns to relief with a subtle smile. “That’s good. It can get dangerous if you’re alone here for too long.” He looks around the cafeteria warily, and then he looks back to you. Genuinely earnest, he asks you, “Would you like for me to come with you to the line?” His speech has a strange high and then low tone, making him sound like he‘s from the Middle East, which would explain his skin tone. 

> **A.** “Sure. Thanks.”
> 
> **B.** I wonder what his nationality is and what he can do? He has to be able to do something in order to be able to attend this school, right?
> 
> **C.** So, does this mean that I can’t tell redneck jokes? “That would be great.”
> 
> **D.** What are you? Some sort of gentleman? You nod your head anyway, if only so you can use him as a shield just in case.
> 
> **E.** “Yes, please, and thank you.”
> 
> **F.** He seems kind of shy, but I don’t sense any bad vibes coming off of him, so this could be a good thing. “I would really like that. Thank you.”
> 
> **G.** “Please, lead the way.”
> 
> **H.** “Only if you don’t mind me sticking to you.”

He nods with a small smile. “My name is Bala. Are you a freshman here? I don‘t think that I recognize you.” 

You introduce yourself and say that you’re starting out as a sophomore.

He sees the minotaur walk to the next line, and waves his hand, gesturing to you to follow him. When his back is turned, you see his long glossy black hair thickly braided down his back, ending to about his tailbone. 

You can’t help but say . . .

> **A.** “You have a lot of hair.”
> 
> **B.** “How long did it take for you to grow out your hair?” 
> 
> **C.** “Are you planning on donating that for charity, or do you use your hair to wrangle cattle?”
> 
> **D.** “Dude, have you ever thought of getting a hair cut?”
> 
> **E.** “Would it be weird to tell you that I love your hair? I‘m jealous!”
> 
> **F.** “If I tried growing my hair that long, I would probably be ripping it off on door knobs and anything else that it would get caught in.”
> 
> **G.** “Your hair must be annoying sometimes.”
> 
> **H.** “You’re hair is probably a lot to manage, huh?”

Bala laughs, keeping his lips closed. “I guess it isn’t everyday that you see men with hair as long as mine. I just like to keep it long, and I think cutting it would just be too big of a change right now. It does get trying at times, but as long as I keep it in a braid, it usually doesn‘t bother me.”

As you go from line to line, him going first to show you how it’s done, wait for your food, and then get your food when your numbers are called, you and Bala exchange a light conversation. You tell him only a little about Winston-Salem—mainly about your parents, and Markus and Jessica. In return, he talks about his older free-spirited sister and niece, and that working on the farm with his brother-in-law is hard, but rewarding. As happy as he was there, he said he needed time to figure himself and his ability out. A man came and gave him a scholarship to come to Fintan’s. Once Fintan’s became a subject, he changed it back to you. “What is it that you can do?”

“According to my roommate, I’m some sort of a low-level empath. It’s not like I feel what you can feel; it’s more like I have a gut instinct about things; however it only works some of the time. What about you?”

“Professionally, it’s called, psychometry, or psychoscopy, but I think it’s simpler to just call it reading tokens and objects.” You remember lightly that Dr. Phillips had mentioned that he read tokens and objects. “I can experience things when I touch objects or things that someone had cherished or held strong emotions to. A locket, an antique teacup, anything that someone has strong emotional ties to.”

You discretely cover your bracelet and tuck your hand under the table away from sight. Bala looks up, and his smile disappears from his face. “Whatever they say, don’t—,” he tries to say, but is interrupted.

“Bala,” a person standing behind you greets. You look over your shoulder just in time to see a few people, also humans, sit down on Bala’s side of the rectangular table. The person who greeted Bala looks at you with a smile, but you find yourself unable to return it. The sudden vibration you‘re feeling from him is suspiciously familiar. It reminds you of Father Gordon‘s. “You’re a new face. Did you just get here this morning?” His words sound charming, but his posture, height, and bulk make him look powerful. Even his face has a strong, angled, leader’s face with bright blue eyes and cherub-like curly blond hair to add in a touch of innocence. Everything about him screams “manipulator.”

You decide to carefully form your words. “Yes, I did. Bala just showed me how the cafeteria line works.” You look to Bala, and see that he has opted to looking down at the table. “Thank you, Bala.” He still doesn’t look up. He’s not going to help you.

“He’s very kind, and I’m glad he found you first before anything else did. I’m Xaviero, this is Addy, and that’s Kora.” Addy, sitting next to Xaviero, simply smiles at you, while Kora raises a hand to you. 

You introduce yourself in a tactful and careful manner.

“You know, you should sit with us. Classroom, mealtime, breaks, anywhere. Anytime. It’s quite intimidating here, especially with so few humans. It can be dangerous once they figure out that you’re all alone. It would be safer if we all stick together and watch each other’s backs. We can show you the ropes of this place.”

“Yeah, that does sound like a good idea,” Bala seems to have stopped breathing, “but I’m confused. Wouldn’t it be better to try and make friends with other beings?”

He raises his eyebrows, while his other two companions narrow their eyes in confusion. “You want to make friends with . . . them?”

“My roommate seems nice. I’m sure at least a few others are nice too. We could all watch each other‘s backs.”

“I’m sure there are nice ones, but I’m telling you that it’s not worth it to risk your life to take the time and find out which from which. They’re all dangerous once they’ve decided to backstab you.” He reaches out his large hand to hold yours with his thumb stroking your knuckles. “What do you say? Say you’ll join our ranks.”

Everything he’s saying triggers your will to just get up and leave, but when you look at Bala, you realize that he wants to leave them. Why it is he can’t, you can’t figure that out. 

* * *

_If you decide to join them in order to help Bala from the inside, go to Chapter 15 and add all of your answers for this chapter there._

_If you decide to help Bala from the outside, go to[Chapter 20](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20420959) and add all of your answers for this chapter there._


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313694)
> 
> Not wanting to be smuggled out of town without one last crack at investigating Father Gordon and how and why he played his part in the murder of Quanisha Talbot and Father Marlow, you find his altar. He had been targeting you after all! Father Gordon attacks you and a fire started, and now you're running. No where is safe.

Father Gordon is really after you! For whatever purpose, you are his target, and home isn’t safe. Anywhere, where he can find you, isn’t safe. With that altar, if whatever it was truly worked for him, not even the darkest corner of the world would be safe. The only good thing is that you managed to hold on to your hairbrush while you run from home. The only person that you can think of that you would be safer with is Mr. Talbot, Quanisha’s father. He’s been off of everyone’s radar for three years, and, he definitely knows a thing or two about rituals; something you don’t think Dr. Phillips would know much about. With only the hairbrush with the braid wrapped around it, and the fear still pounding away in your heart as your feet continue to hit the pavement, you run as far and as fast as you can. 

When you make it out of Winston-Salem, your chest starts to hurt from exhaustion, but you refuse to stop. You will not stop anywhere tonight. You can’t afford to if that table was used for cursing people. 

The bike path runs alongside the highway, so it keeps you out of the tall grass without endangering you from any cars. Even though it’s past two in the morning, and cars are rare at this time of night, you don’t want the chance to be seen walking, especially not by a cop. You’re so wrapped up in thinking of ways of how not to return home, you forget the other dangers that night and being alone can bring.

A couple of hours are spent walking, and just as you can see the hopeful specks of city lights, you hear a deep growl. Slowly, you turn around and face it. Whatever it is, it’s low to the ground on all fours, and its eyes reflect an eerie blue. It continues to growl and snap its jowls at you.

If it’s a feral dog, the only thing you can do at this point is keep your hands to your sides and hope it decides to not knock you down. If it’s a wolf, you know that there are others, and the chance for escape is extremely slim. If it’s something else—a very likely thing since you can’t recognize the growling—you’re probably screwed. You don’t know if its saliva contains deadly bacteria, you don’t know if it’s a pack hunter, and you don’t know if it gets scared off if you act big, ferocious, and rabid. Shaking and hoping it’s just a dog is all you can do.

It lunges at you and clamps down on your arm, pulling you off of your feet, and even with the brush at hand, it’s not much of a weapon. There are times when you’ve gotten the chance to get back on your feet to run, but it would just jump on you again and tear at you. You keep fighting to get to the city lights, adrenaline and shock coursing through you, all the while you just hope that, if you do die, the adrenaline continues to kick in until your heart stops beating. 

You never make it to the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aww, it looks like you died. Too bad. Go ahead and start over. I'm sure you'll make better choices the next time around._


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216527)
> 
> Just as you're about to be smuggled out of Winston-Salem, you decide to take your chances to find Mr. Talbot. In the middle of the night, a car passes by and you decide to take another chance and hitchhike.

You transfer your weight from one foot to the other, before making your decision to hitchhike. It isn’t the safest thing you could do, but you figure that it’s better than the possible alternative. The duffel bag slips off of your shoulder onto the sidewalk, and you wave your hand toward the vehicle. As it pulls up, you can tell it’s a dark green Riviera with hardly a scratch on it. You smile, but then you exhale in disappointment when you recognize Dr. Phillips as the driver. Your eyes are closed and your face is off to the side, bracing yourself for what‘s coming.

“Here you are,” Dr. Phillips states as he puts his car into park. “Well? Get in.” He’s audibly agitated. “I’m assuming you don’t need to say your adieus to your parents.”

* * *

_Continue on to[Chapter 3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20217169)_


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268049)
> 
> Just as you're about to be smuggled out of Winston-Salem, you decide to take your last chance in order to investigate Father Gordon one last time. You find Father Gordon's altar and are attacked.

Fear grips you as he starts to struggle to his feet. When the blazing curtain falls to the floor, you bolt to the hatch and race down. You don’t even bother to go out the way you sneaked in. Once you reach the cold night air, and clear your lungs of any smoke, you run.

* * *

_If you decide to go to the police and tell them about the altar, go to[Chapter 8.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20274811)_

_If you decide to run away, go to[Chapter 11.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20293264) _

_If you decide to run home and hopefully catch up to Dr. Phillips, go to[Chapter 14.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313784)_


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20313694)
> 
> Just as you're about to be smuggled out of Winston-Salem, you decide to investigate Father Gordon one last time. You sneak into the church, find his altar, and get attacked. Just as the church is burning, you escape and run home.

The only person you can think of that would help you is Dr. Phillips. Remembering the way he talked to you, as if he really tried to understand, and the smooth vibration he sent off that had a calming affect on you seemed genuine. Even if you don’t know where you would go, Dr. Phillips would keep you safe. The facility seems like a fine idea rather than staying in Winston-Salem where you have a clear target on your back.

When you get to your house, before you can even knock, the door is thrown open and you’re enveloped in a tight embrace. You don’t care who it is, and just know that you’re safe for the time being.

“Don’t tell your parents what happened,” Dr. Phillips mumbles over your ear. “You’re too much in danger, and your parents will be if you tell them.” 

Even though your father is the Chief of Police and could help, there is this tingling in your mind that agrees with Dr. Phillips. You nod your head against his chest just as your father took you in for a hug, where your mom joins in.

* * *

_Go to[Chapter 3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20217169)_


	16. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 10](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20293132)
> 
> You've made it to Fintan's Academy and have met your roommate, Zandra. While getting your breakfast, you meet Bala, and then meet Xaviero, Addy and Kora. Xaviero offers to let you into their group, but your instincts tell you that he's a bad person, but you want to help Bala. You decided to refuse his offer and help Bala from the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, you are allowed to choose up to two letters per multiple choice set, and be sure to record every answer you choose by love interest name rather than letter.

“You know what?” You place your hand on top of his, and then take it off of your other hand. “Everything that you’ve said to me is ringing a warning in my head telling me that I shouldn’t trust you, but let’s put it frankly. I don’t like you. You’re talking like you’re preparing for a war when that should be over and done with. I’m not going to join you. Whatever your mission is, I am not following.” You soften your tone and turn to Bala. “I’ll see you around, Bala.” He looks up and nods. You don’t need to be a mind reader to see that he’s relieved that you didn’t join them.

You stand up with your tray of food and look for another table. Xaviero had given you a new incentive of taking a chance in order to make a few acquaintances outside of the human species, if only to prove him wrong. “Good morning,” you hesitantly greet one of the tables with ragtag species. You hope that since they are used to sitting with people outside of their species, they wouldn’t mind a human joining their table.

They mostly have human forms, but one member, the one you’re about to sit next to because that's the only empty chair left, has scaly muddy brown skin and a wide mouth. When she replies to the greeting, seemingly friendly enough, you see a couple of rows of sharp needle-like teeth on both her lower and upper jaw, and then two large curved teeth rooted in her upper jaw settling on both sides of her bifurcated tongue. It’s hard not to look scared, or shiver when her elongated tongue slips out of her mouth, and then slithers back in. The table chuckles. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve had my fill this morning. I’ll be digesting it for about a week, so you'll be safe from me until then.” When you’re rethinking about your decision to sit down, she slips her tongue out again. “By the way, that was a joke. You may sit. I won't hurt you, but I can't guarantee anyone else at this table will do the same.” That’s another joke.

Your laugh comes out awkwardly. As you pull out your seat, feeling that joking may be a good sign, you feel a sudden surge of vibrations in front of you, but you don't even have time to look up to see what's coming at you. “DUCK!” When you drop to the floor, you feel a ray of heat pass right over you. Someone yells, probably hit by whatever it was that was aimed towards you, then as you try and crawl away from the table, someone pushes their chair into you, and then topples on top of you. The person is heavy, and you can feel a bit of muscle under his polo shirt. He pushes his body off of you with an angry expression; you thought he was going to hurt you. “Sorry! I, uh . . . .” You try to apologize, but it doesn’t come easily.

When he sees you, his angry expression changes to shock. He opens his mouth to say something when a fireball is hurled at his back. He swears and stands up with his pissed off expression back on his face, and then he turns around to face whoever through the fireball, exposing his back to you. His shirt has a burnt hole, but his reddish copper back seems fine, if only a little redder and a few small blisters. Turning back to you, and looking and pointing down at you, he yells, “Stay right there!” 

> **A.** “No way!”
> 
> **B.** “What! Why? Why do you want me to stay here? Why can‘t I go?” 
> 
> **C.** “What, and get myself killed? No thanks. You can do that all on your own!”
> 
> **D.** No freakin’ way I’m staying here!
> 
> **E.** “Are you kidding? How is this a safe place for someone like me?”
> 
> **F.** He’s flippin’ crazy if he thinks I’m staying here!
> 
> **G.** “No! Don’t go, please! Help me!”
> 
> **H.** You try to will yourself to stay, and do as you’re told, but you know it’s way too dangerous.

He doesn’t pay any more heed to you and stomps toward the being throwing fire and tries to subdue her. When more fireballs are flung in your direction, one crashing into the table you are about to sit at, you decide that it’s time to leave. Now. 

The cafeteria is in chaos. People are hiding behind flipped over tables, some have encouraged the fight and start joining in like a mosh-pit throwing more energy-charged masses of their own. Even food was being thrown around. In fear of being stomped on, especially by the occasional hoof, you ditch your army crawl and try to stand up, but once you got to your feet, you throw yourself on the ground again, this time, landing on someone else. The person flips you both so that he’s on top of you, holding both of your arms over your head. Seeing dark gray skin, stark white hair and red eyes is a shock, but other than that, he looks human with human-like features. His badge definitely isn’t a human’s, but you don’t have time to look at it to any extent.

“Oh, man. I’m really sorry about that!” You scream when a spark of electricity streaks right next you. With your heart beating wildly, your hand standing on end, and uncontrollable shaking, you’re getting too scared for your power of intuition to be accurate, which makes the situation even more frightening. The person you landed on pulls you up to where he’s sitting against a table and holds you against his chest tightly as a fireball flies past you both.

“You need to calm yourself down,” he says into your ear. He pushes you away from his chest and points towards the doors with several aggressive beings in the way. “We’re going that way. Get ready to run.” He pulls you up so you’re on your feet crouching, and then pulls you up by your hand, running and dodging around everyone. When a mass of energy flares behind you, you pull yourself and him to the left against the wall, dodging the fireball, and then he pulls you into another run, making it out of the cafeteria, just in time for teachers and staff to run in to control the fight. “Come on,” he huffs. “It’s better to stay out of the teacher’s way when it gets like this.”

“Does this happen a lot?” you ask, equally out of breath, and shaking.

“Maybe once a month, or every other month.” You’re still too shaken to be able to tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“Great,” you mumble. You look back up to him and let go of his hand. “Thanks. For helping me out back there.”

“Thank you too. I would have been fried if you hadn’t pulled me out of the way.” He looks away from you with a squint in his small eyes and then looks back to you. “Come on, it‘ll be safer at the cemetery. We can wait there until this blows over.” 

You hear a loud crash and yelling, and decide that the cemetery sounds safer, if not quieter. “Yeah. Let’s go.” When you walk down the hall and turn a corner, you introduce yourself, finally remembering to introduce yourself.

“Varick, and, please, only call me Varick. No nicknames or shortenings or anything. Just Varick.” He runs a hand through his hair, probably thinking of the annoyance of whatever nickname was cast on him. 

“Yo, Rick!”

“Oh, god,” Varick mumbles. He turns to the person who called him. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

You’re about to turn around too, but the person throws his arm around your neck and gives you a fierce noogie. “You, Ms. Kitty-cat, are awesome!” No matter how much you struggle against him, you don’t get out of his grip until he lets you go, but not before planting a hard kiss on your cheek. You try kicking him in retaliation for the sudden smooch, but miss. The first thing you notice about the guy who gave you the noogie and the smooch is his eyes—a vibrant orange and snake-like with freckles congregated around them like a domino masque. The rest of him seems perfectly human. 

One of his companions with long curly bronze hair steps up with hands on her hips that’s cocked to the side confidently and says, “We watched the entire thing. It was by all means impressive, especially when you took that guys hand and just tossed it off yours. That was a lovely touch.” Nothing about her seems out of the human sense of normal, but her badge declares differently. The vibe you get from them are good vibes, albeit a bit playful.

“I’m confused,” you say. 

The guy who gave you a noogie wrapped an arm around you shoulder and explains. “The ‘coven,’ as we call them, is a group of humans with special abilities. Xaviero, AKA the coven leader, seems to have the ability to charm people.”

“No other human has been able to resist him,” his companion continues with a dramatic eye roll and a flip of her hair-metal styled hair.

“Then when they try resisting his orders or if their abilities are too weak, the coven just throw them away, or they get into ‘accidents,’” the last companion says. Her fashion is heavily inspired by the ‘70’s, but clearly has the present fashion undertones with pants not so flared, and no leather jacket with fringes. She also looks completely human, but her badge also affirms her as not human. “By the way, are you OK? That fight was pretty hectic.”

“I’m OK. I don’t think I got hit with anything.”

“Good,” says the ‘70’s girl. “I’m Kallan, the one next to you is Svatomir—.”

“Please just call me Savvy. It’s less stiff of a name.” He still hasn’t let go of your shoulder.

“And I’m Iona,” the last member introduces herself. “You are?”

As you’re about to tell them your name, your name is yelled out from down the hall. “You look around them all and see Zandra. “Hey, Zandra, over here.”

She looks to you and shows utter relief. “There was a fight in the cafeteria!”

“I know. I was in there, and then Varick, here, helped me.” 

“Oh thank gosh! I got really worried. I shouldn’t have just left you in there like that. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Not much harm done. Do you want to come with us to the cemetery until everything calms down?”

“Yes. My heart’s beating so much that I feel like I’m running a marathon. I’m really sorry for leaving you!”

“Excellent,” says Savvy. “We can talk there in private.”

Varick gives off a low moan. He had planned to go to the cemetery with as few people as possible.

“I heard that, Varick. Come on. You know you want to join our circle of friendship. We could always use you.” Savvy lets go of you and wraps an arm around Varick‘s shoulders.

“I’d possibly be more inclined to if you stop giving me nicknames. And let go of me.” Varick unwraps Savvy’s arm and trudges onward.

“What? Vare sounds too much like a girl’s name, and Rick isn’t too bad. It’s better than Dick.”

It’s all too obvious that Varick is holding himself back with his retorts, probably having learned much earlier that nothing would work on Savvy. The next best thing was ignoring the annoyance, and that‘s what Varick intends to do until you reach the cemetery.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”

“Are those two friends, or not?” you ask.

Kallan steps up. “Long-story-short, they were roommates last year. Didn’t work out so well, and Varick moved out within a month, but they have a mutual friendship as long as it’s in small doses.”

“Extremely small doses,” Iona clarifies.

The cemetery is large, with some tombstones going so far back that it reaches the point where the forest is at its thickest. You all walk to the center of the cemetery so people won’t have as many places to hide like there would be if you had walked all the way to the back where the forest is. Crows caw at you, but once you‘ve all settled down on the grass and the stone benches, they seem to calm down. 

“The crows are handy; they’ll start up a fuss if someone else comes over,” Savvy says. He takes off his trapper hat, where his large ears start twitching. After a minute of silence so Savvy can further test the area in case anyone had came to the cemetery before you all did, he starts talking. “OK. Let’s just get straight to the point here. I want you,” he points to you, “to help us overthrow the coven. They’ve been a nuisance ever since they formed their group, and have framed and gotten other beings kicked out to the point that it has gotten too far.”

“Have you tried talking to Principal Rhoda about all of this?”

“Yes,” Iona interjects. “Unfortunately, there isn’t any physical proof that they are involved or that they had orchestrated anything.”

“What about the gargoyles?”

“They aren’t video cameras that can show people exactly what they see and all that they see to the smallest detail. They merely talk about what they notice from a crowd, and unfortunately, they don’t notice the important parts,” Savvy explains.

Iona continues, “Like that Kora can force beings to do what she wants somehow. She forced that ifrit into throwing that fireball at you, and now that ifrit is probably going to be expelled even though she wasn‘t under her own influence.”

Even if you don’t know what an ifrit is, it’s still horrible that she was forced to do something bad against her will. “OK, but I have one condition, and it’s a deal breaker if this condition isn’t agreed upon by everyone.”

Savvy, Iona and Kallan look to each other confidently, probably thinking that you‘re condition is small. “What is it?” Savvy asks. 

“There’s someone in the coven, but I’m sure that he wants out of there. I want to get him out, and I want to make sure he is safe afterwards. We might have to protect him in case we do get him out, but the coven manages to stay in the school.”

Savvy takes a breath and winces. “That depends on who it is.” 

“Bala.” 

“What?” Iona asks defiantly. “No. No way. Not Bala.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding? He is their lap dog. He spies on people, then somehow gets people‘s secrets, and then gives that info to Xaviero. He’s creepy! And it‘s those secrets that makes the coven formidable because of all the blackmail.”

“If Bala isn’t protected, I’m not helping.”

Iona blows out air. “I so wish you were a dude!” She then promptly crosses her arms.

To answer your confused look, Kallan answers your unasked question. “Iona’s a siren. She can control human males to do her bidding.”

“Oh. Lucky me then, but wait. If you can control human males with your voice, why not control Xaviero?”

Varick takes over, interrupting Iona’s rant before it starts. “Unlike Kora, Iona’s power is contained in her voice when she sings, which is quite noticeable. Obviously, it’s against the school rules to control anyone, so if she tried to control someone like Xaviero, it would definitely be noticeable. Second, even if she did get him to confess, it could be argued that we used leading questions, or made Xaviero say whatever we wanted to say, but the main problem with trying to control Xaviero is that Iona can’t. She tried to, but Xaviero seemed immune.”

“Lucky bastard,” Iona grumbles, “and I got punished big time for that.”

“Before we consider taking in your condition, how about you give us an incentive before we agree with helping Bala at all,” Varick says.

You think about what you can tell them. Maybe you could tell them his ability of reading tokens and object, which would be how he gets people‘s secrets, but you aren’t sure about betraying that kind of information without Bala’s permission.

“She can read people,” Zandra answers for you. “She’s a low-level empath and can tell good people from bad, and knows when they’re lying and stuff.”

“So you have an instinct about Bala that makes you want to trust him,” Savvy clarifies.

“Not trust, but help.”

The trio looks to each other again. Iona obviously refuses to agree with it, Savvy isn’t sure about it, but Kallan seems neutral, if not fine with whatever decision is made.

“How can we tell if your ability works? How can you tell who’s trustworthy or not?” Savvy asks with a critical eye.

“I followed you all here, didn’t I?”

Savvy puffs out air with a wide smile on his face. “Who’s to say that we’re trustworthy?”

“I do.”

“I’m fine with that,” Varick replies with a quirk in his smile. “It’s not like I have to be friends with Bala after this is all over.”

“That’s true,” Savvy offers. “What about you, Iona? Kallan?”

“I’m fine with it,” Kallan says.

Iona exhales and grumbles that she’ll help.

“OK, so what do you need me for?”

“And me,” Zandra volunteers. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

“I don’t have a plan yet, so give me some time to poke around,” Savvy says. “Talk to Bala when you can get a word with him in private. Ask him about why he or other members can’t leave and more about their group.”

Just then, the bell in the cathedral’s bell tower starts ringing.

“That means we have to head back in the school now,” Varick says.

“They’ll probably need to talk to you since you were directly involved in that fight,” Iona forewarns you, “but they’ll send a letter or someone when Principal Rhoda wants to talk to you.”

“Otherwise, don’t sweat about it,” Kallan says. “You probably won’t get into trouble since you were running and not fighting.”

“And if you need any witnesses, we’re all here,” Savvy says with a wide smile.

When you all get inside, Varick asks you, “What class are you in?”

“It’s summer. Are there classes here in the summer?”

“For those of us who are psychics, if we stay here during the breaks, we have to take classes in order to learn more about our abilities, not to mention that it‘s also to keep us out of trouble. With classes and chores, it‘s hard to find time to get into trouble, you know? Or, at least, that‘s the theory. There are also clubs that you can join, but it isn‘t mandatory. Let me see your card.” You hand Zandra your card you received at breakfast and she points to the letter next to your name. “This means that you’re in class D-3, which I think is the evening class right after dinner.”

“What about those who aren’t psychic?”

“We’re demanded to volunteer our time in helping those who have similar abilities we naturals have in order to teach them to learn how to control it through example,” Savvy begrudgingly states. “The class I will be ‘volunteering’ for will be starting right before lunch.”

“I already had my class, so I’m free for the rest of the day except for chores,” Kallan gloats.

“You guys are lucky,” Iona complains. “I don’t have any classes since no one can sing in order to hypnotize human males, but that means I have extra time for chores. I would so rather be teaching people.”

“What about you, Varick? Do you volunteer or have any classes?”

“Yeah, I’m taking a class because I can see and hear ghosts, but that‘s later tonight.”

“‘Ghosts?’” Zandra repeats. “Were there any ghosts in the cemetery?”

“A few.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” 

“You’re afraid of ghosts?” you ask. For someone so ghostly-looking, it’s sort of ironic. One would think she would have blended right in.

“And you’re not? I can‘t even stand watching horror movies.”

> **A.** “I hear ya.”
> 
> **B.** “They can’t really do anything, right? I mean, they don’t have a physical body, and movies always fudge the details, so not everything you see in movies happen, right?”
> 
> **C.** “What’s to be scared about? They are just disembodied souls and if they’re angered they can lash out and scratch you or possess your body and stuff.”
> 
> **D.** Don’t be a baby, you think.
> 
> **E.** “Yeah, scary movies are kind of creepy.”
> 
> **F.** “Don’t worry, I’m rather afraid of ghosts too.”
> 
> **G.** I know who I’m not going to depend on if we ever decide to visit a haunted house.
> 
> **H.** “Ghosts have never hurt me, and I honestly don’t mind scary movies. I’m not afraid of them as long as they don’t hurt me.”

“Trust me, Zandra,” Varick tries to reassure the ghostly girl, “most spirits don’t want to harm people.” You can tell he lied, but don’t say anything in order to let Zandra believe in the positive.

“Really? That’s good. I feel a little better now.” Poor girl. If only she knew what you knew.

“Hey, Zandra, if your ability is dream walking, does that mean your classes are at night too?” you ask.

“No, actually it’s starting in about ten minutes. Part of my ability is astral projecting, so if I can control it while I’m awake, I should be able to control it unconsciously so I don’t fall into anyone’s dreams by mistake.”

After Zandra leaves for her class, Iona, Varick and Kallan leave to do their chores or clubs, and Savvy leaves to spy on the coven members. They all tell you to be careful, and to try and stick to areas where people are around—don’t be alone.

In the back of your mind, you think of your friends from home, Jessica and Markus. Are they mad at you for keeping a secret? Would it be worth it to call them? Markus would probably at least consider why you kept your abilities a secret, but Jessica would most definitely scorn you for keeping a secret, and probably for being psychic. Do you want to face the music now or later?

Then again, it would probably be a good thing to explore the campus grounds so you can get a feel for the new terrain and so you can find a few hiding places in case you need to bolt.

* * *

_If you decide to explore the school, read your results and then go to Chapter 16._

_If you decide to make a phone call to home, read your results and then go to Chapter 17._

* * *

### If you chose mostly A’s . . . you got Zandra!

After Zandra had dropped her roommate off at the cafeteria for breakfast, she hurried back to the library. Yes, Principal Rhoda had excused her from chores to help her new roommate get her badge, key and show her around to the cafeteria, but she had owed a favor to Neema after Zandra had accidentally knocked a drink onto her and her books. If she didn’t do as she was told, Zandra would be made to pay somehow. Her badge declared her as a vampire, like Zandra; however she was not like Zandra. She wasn’t a strigoi vii, nor was she a shtriga and looked nothing like her. Neema was tall, thin, with very dark skin along with dark eyes, rounded facial features with large eyes. To Zandra, Neema would have been a great person to look forward to being friends with, if it wasn’t for that accident.

While shelving books for Neema, who wasn’t around, she heard students outside the library talking loudly that there was a fight in the cafeteria. Zandra’s heart had dropped to the floor when she recalled her leaving the human there alone, but which cafeteria? There were three! She shoved the remaining books back on the cart and bolted out of the library towards the cafeteria.

Utter relief washed over her when she saw her safe and unharmed, but was surprised to see her surrounded by other people—other beings. Zandra knew Savvy, sort of. He greeted her from time to time with a smile and wink, but she hadn’t met either of the girls or the black elf. If Zandra’s roommate had already made friends with them, she was sure that they would be trustworthy, and that she would get to know them too, in time. In the meanwhile, even though she was uncomfortable in the cemetery, she was sure that if Neema caught her skipping out on doing her chores, she would be dead meat. Neema was scarier than any ghost.

* * *

### If you chose mostly B’s . . . you got Varick!

It wasn’t an uncommon thing to get new students at Fintan’s Academy, especially during the summer breaks when Dr. Phillips would rescue them, but getting a student with a ghost following them? That’s pretty uncommon. What was even more uncommon was that the ghost wasn’t human and it wasn’t anything that Varick could identify. To say that his curiosity was piqued in that cathedral would be correct, but he wasn’t going to get himself involved in that. He has had enough of the disembodied spirits.

He had promised himself that he would stay away, but he guessed the new student had other ideas. In the cafeteria, when she landed on him, he thought she was another being out to hurt him, so he flipped her over and pinned her. Varick was shocked that it was her, the girl in the cathedral with a hideous-looking ghost haunting her. He looked around and saw it again, closer and in more detail. Its skin was warped, as if it had been burned and scarred, but that’s all he could take in because a streak of electricity flowed next to them. 

Varick didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to anger the spirit, he had to involve himself in order to protect the girl, at least until they both made it out of the cafeteria. He saw the door, and knew they could sprint for it. It would be risky, but it was better than staying in the cafeteria. Varick pulled the girl along, and when they were almost to the door, she pulled him to the side into the wall where a fireball zipped passed them both. She had saved his life. If that fireball had hit him squarely in the back, he could have died and probably become a ghost himself. They fled again and made it out of the cafeteria. Safe.

She talked to him, and thanked him. In so few words, he could tell that even though he was not human, as if his dark skin, white hair, and red eyes weren’t enough of a hint, she treated him as if they were standing on the same ground and breathing the same air. It was refreshing. Even other beings in his classes didn’t treat him that casually, but that could also be because he‘s fascinated with the Gothic subculture—the art, the jewelry, the fashion style, the music, everything. That’s why he wanted to come to Fintan’s Academy, to see the school, the bas relief carvings, the statues, the architecture, and the building itself. He wasn’t interested in honing his abilities since they were more of a burden he didn’t want. He hated being able to see and hear ghosts.

Her faithful ghost appeared again, distracting him from the conversation. He tried to ignore it, learn how to not see it, but it was hard not to. Usually, when there’s a ghost, especially if they are following a living person around, it’s either because they hate the person and want to harm them, or they want help and expect the person they‘re haunting to find the answers. Considering that he couldn’t see any wounds on the girl as far as he could see, the ghost probably wanted help somehow. Should he tell her that she was being followed, or should he leave her blissfully unaware?

* * *

### If you chose mostly C’s . . . you got Savvy!

### If you chose mostly E’s . . . you got Iona!

### If you chose mostly H’s . . . you got Kallan!

Savvy rushed into the cafeteria to meet his two compadres. A new human had come to school, which means a new opportunity to find new information on the coven due to the newbie possibly slipping up after being initiated. Any new information would be good since they have a power that prevents wander lookers and eavesdroppers. Through the crowd of beings, he identified Iona’s perfume and Kallan’s herbal tea, and headed towards that smell to find them sitting at a table near a window alone. On the way, he also spied the new human in line with one of the coven members, Bala.

“Yo, Kallan. I need a live feed on an aura,” Savvy said, pointing in the new student’s direction. “That girl with Bala.” He sat down in between the girls.

“Who is she?” Iona asked.

“She’s Zandra’s new roommate. She came here this morning. Kallan?”

“She seems to be enjoying his company. A bit sleep deprived, and maybe stressed by the new environment. In the midst of all that there are also stains of apprehensiveness and worry along with anger. She’s been feeling this for a long time.”

“Sounds just like the coven’s type,” Iona remarked. “Vulnerable and alone.”

“What about Bala? Anything coming from him?” Savvy had tried to spy on Bala and trick him into sharing coven secrets, but Bala was tight-lipped, even more so than the usual newbie.

Kallan hummed as the pair they were spying on finds a table to sit down at. “He likes her, but is scared. He’s also sad. Very sad. It’s basically the same as ever. Oh, wait, he’s really scared now.”

“Xaviero, Addula, and Kora just came in. Keep reading.”

“Xaviero’s and Addula’s auras are masked as usual,” Kallan sighed. “Kora’s calm without fear or tenseness. Not showing any interest in the possible new member.”

“Figures. She’s a total robot,” Iona comments.

Xaviero reached out to hold the new girl’s hand as they spoke—the death blow to any resistance the new girl may have had.

“Hey,” Iona says to Savvy, “the girl’s talking. What’s she saying?”

Despite the distance, and the other beings in the cafeteria talking, Savvy recites everything word for word. When she tossed Xaviero’s hand like it was a stray hair, Iona lightly applauds with a toothy grin.

“I still can’t see Xaviero’s aura, but he looks like he’s in shock. Kora, on the other hand, is in shock.”

“You know what?” Savvy asks rhetorically. “I think we found the perfect spy for us.”

* * *

### If you chose mostly D’s . . . you got Cash!

He had that dream again. It had been the same dream for a month straight, night after night, but the first time he ever had that dream was four years prior. Did that mean that she was coming? He had hoped so. The girl in his dreams, he was sure she had the key his freedom and happiness. He was tired of having a fixed path, tired of trying to fight destiny and the stigma on his own, and he was sure that she would help him do that.

“Hey, sweetie,” a male lilium, a descendant of Lilitu, flirted in his direction. “I have what you want. What say we go somewhere . . . private?” He cocked his head to the side and winked. On any other day, he would have taken his offer, but his dream seemed to be clearer than ever, and he couldn’t keep it out of his mind.

“No. Not today.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” He pulled out a roll of bills held by a rubber band and held it below the table out of people‘s view. “Don’t you want this? This should cover at least a quickie.”

“I said no. Now get lost.”

He pouted and got up only to wrap her arms around his shoulder to whisper, “I’ll find you later then.” He pecked his cheek and left.

He rubbed at his face after he left, disgusted, but not knowing who to be disgusted at. Breakfast was unappealing that morning, not that the lilium helped.

A girl behind him yelled, but he didn’t pay enough attention to what was being yelled, and felt a burning sensation at his back. His body was made to handle heat, so it only hurt for a second, but being attacked from behind on this morning ticked him off. He shoved his chair out, hitting something else, and he fell onto his arms and knees, chest to chest with someone. Prepared to yell at the stupid someone who he landed on top of, he pushed his body off of her and recognized the girl from his dream. Younger, obviously, but it was her! He was sure of it. She tried to apologize, but he had no idea what to say to her. It was too sudden. When he did want to say something, finally thinking of what to say, another fireball is hurled at him.

She was being targeted? “Fuck,” he growled as he stood up. It was an ifrit hurling the fire, but it was obvious that she wasn’t in her right mind—especially since he’s had intimate nights with her and new her personally. He turned to the girl he landed on top of, still on her back, her upper body being held up by her arms, and ordered, “Stay right there!”

He couldn’t hear whether or not she said anything, but he had to try and calm the ifrit down before things in the cafeteria turned ugly. Fireball, after fireball, he took the hits with his arms and eventually got close enough to hold her wrists. The ifrit’s eyes roll up, and she slumps to her knees. When she regains her consciousness within the violent mass of students who decided to join in, she held her head, not knowing what happened, but recognizing the person who brought her back to sanity. She thanked him, and told him that she was alright.

With that confirmed, he stood up to look for the girl in order to protect her, but she hadn’t stayed in the spot, not that he could blame her at that point. The table she was near was singed. He looked around, more and saw her running with a senior, a black elf of the svartalfr, and had made it out of the cafeteria safely. Barely.

He tried to go after her, but he was blocked by students who were fighting amongst themselves. Even if he made it out of the cafeteria, he lost her for the day. That was OK though, because she finally came to school and would probably be attending here, so he had time. In the meanwhile, he tried to help others out of the cafeteria, and tried to calm the violent students.

* * *

### If you chose mostly F’s . . . you got Markus!

Markus and Jessica had been surprised that you had to take the Psy-tests, but they weren’t surprised who ordered for you to take it. They both knew that you had it out for Father Gordon, and they knew that he had it out for you as well. Ever since Quanisha’s murder and Father Marlow’s suicide, they tried to be patient with you and be your friends, but talking about Quanisha was uncomfortable. She was your friend, not theirs. They didn’t really know her; you did. It didn’t seem fair to just tell you to get over it; that it had been three years already, and they had been your friends first. 

Jessica and you used to have sleepovers all the time and play with each other’s hair and play dress up and all the other girly things that girls do at sleepovers. When you weren’t talking or hanging out with Jessica, there was always Markus, your neighbor from down and across the street. He would always bring leftovers to you and Jessica from last night’s dinner and you all would play basketball—girls against Markus—and practice with BB guns or slingshots just in case you were hunted down by something. You were the best at it because your father taught you how to aim. Markus always listened to you, even if it was a menial subject, he at least tried to understand, so why did you avoid them while you were taking the tests?

The testing period was over, and Jessica and Markus headed over to your house to celebrate summer break with a trip to the reserve for a picnic. Not to mention that they wanted to ask you what the tests were like. Just as they reached your house and was about to knock on the door, it opened to reveal Chief Upshaw about to head to the station for work. He jumped when he saw the teens, not expecting them to be there already. 

“Good morning, Markus, Jessica,” he greeted them with a masked caution. His daughter had just left that morning for school, what should he tell them? 

“Good morning to you too, Chief Upshaw. Is Kimberly up yet?” Jessica replied sweetly. She looked a little pass the chief into the house as if her friend would descend the stairs any second.

“Uh, she’s not here.”

“Oh, is she spending the night at another friend’s house?”

The chief takes in a breath, as he makes a decision he wasn’t sure his daughter would approve of. “No, Jessica. She passed the Psychic Exams, and left early this morning to go to school in another state.” Dr. Phillips had told him all about the school, where it was, how he could reach his daughter, some of the teachers and staff that are his friends, and assured the chief that his daughter would be safe there and learn much. That the school would be a chance for her to start over with a clean slate with no fear of ridicule due to her differences. His daughter really did need to start over. Staying in Winston-Salem, with memories of Quanisha and Father Gordon looming over her along with her obsession, and having to hide her abilities all the time, it was tearing her down little by little. 

Markus’ and Jessica’s eyes widened. “She . . . passed?”

“Yes,” the chief confirmed straightforwardly. 

“Did she know?”

“Yes, we all did, but she hoped to not pass so she can stay here with you two. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to work.” His excused dismissal of the teens gave away his obvious discomfort.

After the chief drove away, Markus and Jessica walk to Markus’ home to talk, and eat the food that was in the wicker basket. As soon as they entered Markus’ bedroom, Jessica started to pace, and Markus prepared himself for her venting. “This is totally not fair, how could she do this? I thought we were her friends; she could have talked to us. She could have told us that she was psychic! Hell, she could have just at least said good-bye to us! She’s . . . she’s . . .!” Jessica growled, not finding the right adjective for you. “I hate her!”

“Jessica,” Markus interrupts, “you don’t hate her. You’re just hurt that she’s kept secrets from us. Frankly, I don’t blame her.”

“What? You don’t blame her? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m saying that people here are judgmental. As soon as people figure out that she’s psychic, and that’s why she left, they aren’t going to give a darn. When she comes back, she’s probably going to be scorned.”

“She could have told us at least! I bet she told Quanisha. From the chief, it sounded like she’s known she was psychic for her whole life.”

“Quanisha was a shape-shifter. Kimberly probably thought that Quanisha was closer to her level than we were.”

“Would you stop making excuses for her? Aren’t you hurt about any of this?”

“Yes. Yes. I am hurt that she couldn’t confide in me, but I don’t blame her for it.” Markus started licking and biting his lips. He couldn’t blame Kimberly because he also had a secret that he hadn’t even told Jessica, his girlfriend, about. “You know, when I look back on it, sometimes we were harsh towards other people, and beings, and people who were suspected of being psychics. She never joined us in those kinds of conversations. Don’t you think that might have scared her a little?”

“Yeah, fine.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Let’s just eat the food before it goes bad.”

Markus knew that she was trying to understand, but he also knew that understanding from an outsider’s perspective was harder than just agreeing to accept it. Markus, while he wasn’t psychic, knew he was on the fence looking between his two best friends: one who was completely normal and loving, and everything he wanted in someone he could share his life with, but probably wouldn‘t understand his secret, and the other who was drowning herself in anger and misery with her passion for her friends, but could understand keeping secrets and would give the time and effort to understand it. He was at a loss, but he knew he didn’t want to lose either of them. Markus stepped to Jessica to give her a soft kiss. It was an apology kiss and a kiss to share his hope that she would understand his secret.

* * *

### If you chose mostly G’s . . . you got Bala!

The meeting had just ended, and Bala had an urgent mission ahead: find the human and deter him or her from the group. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. No one knew what gender or age the new student would be, nor what sort of abilities they might have. All they really knew was that the student arrived today, early this morning. He remembered his first day at Fintan’s and tried all of the quiet places with no luck. Then he tried the cafeteria nearest to him.

She was looking around with analytical and guarded eyes, and hadn’t noticed him yet. Bala looked at her badge, and found his objective. First, he had to make sure none of the other members had found her first, and lightly probed at her to see if she was alone. If any of the members had found the newest human, Bala doubted that they would just leave a new prospect alone, but he had to be sure. Bala was glad to hear that she made a friend other than any of the coven members. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so lucky when he first started out. If she had bonds outside of the group, she could have an easier time rejecting the offer.

After they both had gotten their food and sat down, Bala was shocked that they were having an enjoyable conversation. He hadn’t talked to anyone outside of the group, and he hadn’t really talked to anyone within the group either, so his words seem to stumble and he had to think about his answers, but he was happy to be talking again. Bala had missed it. He wanted to talk to the girl longer, but he saw his worst fear walking towards his table without him able to warn her. Bala tried, but was smothered when Xaviero sat right next to him and turned his focus to the girl.

Too late.

As Xaviero’s sugar-laced words filled the air, with Bala remembering being enchanted by the same speech the first time he heard it, and being enchanted again with hope that he would be safe from harm and having friends, he felt disgusted with himself for falling for it all over again.

“You know what?” She placed her hand on top of Xaviero‘s, and then flicked it off of her other hand. “Everything that you’ve said to me is ringing a warning in my head telling me that I shouldn’t trust you, but let’s put it frankly. I don’t like you. You’re talking like you’re preparing for a war when that should be over and done with. I’m not going to join you. Whatever your mission is, I am not following.” 

If Bala had taken a bite or taken a sip, he was sure he would have choked on it. She could resist Xaviero? She did. Somehow. Bala was ecstatic that she remained free, but was bitter at himself for not having the strength to leave on his own two feet.

When she looked at him, and said, “I’ll see you around, Bala,” it was as if he had felt a renewed hope, but after she turned her back, it was squashed.

After she found a table, Xaviero barked, “Kora.” He nodded his head in a certain direction. 

Kora found her target, and Bala only realized too late after the fireball was thrown. It was too late to stop Kora, and it was too late to warn the girl, but somehow, she had managed to dodge it without even looking up. During the struggle and chaos, Bala’s eyes followed her closer than his body could. He was too busy dodging and ducking out of the way to reach her. After she practically tackled a dark-skinned person, Bala noticed her bracelet snap off. He had noticed her hide it after he mentioned his tokens and object reading ability, so it must have been of great importance to her. She and the person she tackled bolt to the door, and they dodged another fireball without any possibility of knowing it was coming. Bala thought that her ability, although she only generalized it with words, was amazing in action. 

She and the person ran out of the cafeteria safely, and Bala hurried to the bracelet. Without thinking, he grabbed it with his bare hand and gasped.

  


_He was looking at her—well, a younger version of the girl—with colors radiating from her presence. She was making a bracelet just as he was—well, the person’s perspective he was entering was making the bracelet. They both were chanting._

_“I promise on these strands of hair that we will stick together through thick and thin, through good and bad, and life and death. Nothing, not even any god or goddess, will separate us so long as we keep each other’s gift.”_

_Whomever he was residing in, he could feel so much love and care towards the girl, that anything less than devotion wouldn’t be enough._

  


When he came out of his vision, Xaviero grabbed Bala’s shoulder, startling the younger man. “You didn’t get her?” 

Bala hid the bracelet in his pocket. “No. I lost her in the crowd.”

Addula grabs onto Xaviero’s arm, and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll get to her next time. We still have time to complete ourselves.”


	17. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20216668)
> 
> You've passed the Psy-Test, and you're about to be smuggled out of Winston-Salem; however you want to investigate Father Gordon before you're unable to, so you sneak into the church. There's a strange sensation coming from a supply closet, and just as you're about to open the door, you hear footsteps. Thinking quickly, you decide to hide.

Looking around, you see a large concrete statue of an angel, and hide behind it. The echoing footsteps gets louder as whoever it is gets closer, and just as the footsteps reach to where you are, they stop. You hold your breath, knowing that the person is right in front of the statue, but after a few moments, you take a peak. 

The smell of wood and leather varnish hits you, and you realize it is Father Gordon. You grind your teeth as a hot pool settles in your stomach, and quickly come out from behind the statue to shove him against the door. He bangs into the door, and falls, yelling out a string of curses. When he turns around, on his back, he states your name and curses again. 

“Why?” You yell, not particularly caring if anyone else was still inside the church. “I know you had something to do with Quanisha’s death. What really happened? Answer me!”

“It’s just as I reported it to your father. Quanisha came in and—.”

“You’re lying. I know you’re lying. Quanisha would never hurt Father Marlow, and I know Father Marlow wouldn‘t hurt Quanisha, or kill himself. Now start telling the truth.”

“You really want to know?” He finds his way to his feet and stands with his back to the door. “Fine. I’ll tell you. I did lie, but I was protecting Father Marlow. He was a good man, but was extremely troubled. He was about to close the front entrance when he saw Quanisha walking and asked her inside. Quanisha had no idea what was going to happen. Father Marlow stabbed Quanisha in cold blood. Then, out of remorse and shame of what he had done, he killed himself.”

“I don’t believe you. Where were you when that happened?” Father Gordon presses himself against the door and puffs out his chest. “What’s so important in that closet?”

He smiles. “Do you really want to know?”

You don’t even give him a nod of your head.

Father Gordon turns around and opens the door and turns on the light. He then steps inside and presses himself against the opposite wall to reveal stairs. “Come on then. I’ll show you where I was that night.” He climbs the stairs, and you follow him, making sure to stay a few steps back, and holding on to your pepper spray hidden in your pocket. When you reach the top, you climb up through the hatch on the floor. The arched ceiling tells you that you’re in the attic.

“This way.” You look toward the voice and see him lighting candles on a small table. “I was sitting right here praying the night Quanisha and Father Marlow died. You can look at my altar if you want.” 

As Father Gordon steps away, you step forward, intending to look at his altar. You see a mountain of white and yellow candles that had melted on top of each other, illuminating an altar. The centerpiece was a photograph of you and Quanisha hugging and smiling, but Quanisha‘s face was covered with a red X, and your face was circled in red. You recognize the background of a church camping trip you both had went on when you were both barely in middle school—you had met on that camping trip! Around the picture you recognize a rosary that had belonged to Father Marlow. You couldn’t forget the cross made of redwood, the blue and green alternating beads and the Jesus figure and the chain being gold. Underneath the items and the candles you see lines of white chalk in an intricate star pattern. Tears streaked your hot face and you covered your nose and mouth with a hand, willing yourself to not make a sound, or to break down and cry. You carefully picked up the photograph and see, lying beneath the photograph, a long strand of thinly braided black hair with orange beads on one end wrapped around a brush with hair still in its teeth that had faded. It took you a moment to realize that the brush was yours, lost from a couple of months ago during gym class, and you distantly remember that at one point Quanisha had complained that one of her braids must have fallen off because her aunt had braided it too tight. Her hair had orange and red beads hanging from them.

Nausea and lightheadedness washes over you. You crouch down to try and mollify the ill feelings you were experiencing, but can‘t hold back from retching. 

“So you see? Do you get it now?” Father Gordon whispers behind you. He crouches right behind you. “I was right here, praying,” you can feel his breath on your ear, and then he backs away. “Praying for Quanisha, Father Marlow, and your death!”

You move away and hear a crash as the table splinters and is knocked over. The candles start burning the curtains, and the melted wax spills all over the floor. Father Gordon immediately stands back up. It takes you too long for your hand to find your pocket for your pepper spray and Father Gordon finds your throat with his meaty hands. No air can reach your lungs, panic and fear sets in, and your brain starts to feel fuzzy. You grope and hit his shoulders, and try kicking to no avail, so you try blindly reaching around to grab something. Your vision starts narrowing. When your hand grips a solid object, you thrash it against Father Gordon’s head, making him let go of your neck, and you bring a knee up and kick his chest, sending him on his back away from you allowing you to suck in air, including the smoke that was starting to collect in the room. Crawling away, and finding your feet to stand on, you see that you had grabbed your brush and Quanisha’s braid. 

* * *

_Go to[Chapter 6.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268286)_


	18. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20268472)
> 
> You've passed the Psy-Test, and was about to be smuggled out of Winston-Salem, but you decided to take your chances to find Mr. Talbot. By some miracle, you find him and hear his side of the story, and he takes you back home.

Even if you do decide to sneak into Father Gordon’s home and find your answers, if you’re caught and he press charges, which he most certainly will, you’ll end up in trouble, probably juvenile detention, or even jail. Then you wouldn’t be able to find any answers at all. Maybe Mr. Talbot is right. Maybe Dr. Phillips is the person that can help.

The first place you thought to look was home. Not to mention that you probably should apologize to your parents for making them worry. Dr. Phillips probably left them a number or an email address so contacting him wouldn’t be a hassle. When you reach the block your house would be on, you see an unfamiliar dark green Riviera parked in the driveway next to your father’s pick-up. Cautiously, you open the door and step in. You don’t hear anything at all, which is unusual and makes your insides shiver out of nervousness. You’re about to go upstairs to your room when your father clears his throat loudly. Caught. 

In a stern tone, you hear your full name. When your father has to state your full name, you know you‘re in big trouble.

You slowly turn around to face the entrance of the living room, and, surprise, you see Dr. Phillips sitting on your sofa drinking coffee that your mother probably made for him. Before you could possibly explain why you had left, Dr. Phillips interrupts you and says, “I will be driving you early tomorrow morning. This time, I’ll be staying here to make sure you don’t run away again. Are we both clear?”

Dr. Phillips subtly shakes his head in a way that makes you confused. It‘s as if he doesn‘t want to hear any excuses, or even why you left in the first place. Or maybe he didn‘t want your parents to know, not that you were about to tell them that you met Mr. Talbot again. After Mr. Talbot took Quanisha‘s body, he and your dad weren‘t exactly companion material. “Yeah, crystal clear.” After that, all three made absolutely sure that you weren’t left alone for even a minute, even though you weren’t about to run away again. 

* * *

_Go to[Chapter 3.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20217169)_


	19. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapters:  
> [Chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20217169)
> 
> You've passed the Psy-Test and was smuggled out of Winston-Salem to Holland Michigan to attend Fintan's Academy, the school for humans and beings with extra psychic abilities. After meeting Principal Rhoda and Vice Principal Ymir, you decide to have breakfast.

Principal Rhoda gives you some immediate guidance when socializing with your peers. Since you’re human, you should obviously stay away from things whose diet does include humans, although this school doesn’t allow any species with an all-human diet, just as human students aren’t allowed to eat any of the other beings. If such a being should interact with you, she suggests trying to be friendly first, but if things do turn for the worst, find your friends or a teacher. Vice Principal Ymir gruffly adds that just because most humans are frail and usually don’t have any aggressive psychic or magical abilities, it doesn’t mean that anyone would go easy on you. The rest of the advice given was about basic etiquette, and then the conversation turned to school customs such as seasonal festivals, when you can use the phones for personal use, what you should do if you get hurt or injured, and that fights wouldn’t be tolerated. 

“Do you see those statues hanging from the center of the cross arch of the ceiling?” Vice Principal Ymir asks, pointing a finger up which barely passes above her head.

Still walking, you look up and see the gangly bat-like stone statues, and all the ones, lined up each in the center of where the cross arches meet. You had also seen similar ones on the outside of the school, and near the windows. “They’re gargoyles, right?”

“Yes, very good. These gargoyles, act as surveillance cameras, even when they are stone. That means that you can’t get away with much, if anything, here. Keep that in mind when you plan your mischief.”

“Good to know,” you say lightly, not that you really were planning on pulling off any practical jokes at the moment.

On the way to the cafeteria, talking more about school-related subjects, and asking questions about you, Principal Rhoda recognizes one of the students. Her ghostly pale appearance is hard to miss. “Ah, Miss Zandra! Good timing. We were just about to drop your new roommate off at the cafeteria. Why don’t you take her there instead and get to know each other a bit. Show her around too.”

Zandra hesitates, looking between you and the stack of books in her arms, but continues to smile. “Yes, of course.” Her voice has a high edge to it, like a little boy’s just before they hit puberty. Her silvery-white pixie style hair and her strong angled jaw along with her purple and gray striped sweater tucked into her baggy denim overalls makes her look even more like a boy. Zandra doesn’t even reach five feet, giving her an even more younger appearance.

“Ah, good. I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time for the meeting this morning. Thank you, Miss Zandra. I hope you enjoy Fintan’s, and if you have any problems, you can always come see me at my office.”

Vice Principal Ymir stands in front of you with a pinched face. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply, only to not seem disrespectful. Seeing Vice Principal Ymir grunt and then follow Principal Rhoda makes you realize that you had been holding in an exasperated sigh.

Zandra chuckles. “Don’t worry about the vice principal, she’s like that with everyone. You’re my new roommate, right? The principal told me last night that I would be getting a new roommate soon, but I didn’t think if would be this soon, so I’m sorry that the room is still a mess. I’ll clean it up right away, but anyway my name’s Alexandra, though I prefer Zandra, but if you want to call me Ally, or Alex or anything, really, that’s quite OK. I heard you’re from North or South Carolina—I totally forgot which one, I’m sorry—but what’s it like over there? Are the people nice? What about the demographics? I find it fascinating that the ethnicity percentage is different from state to state and even from city to city, and I always wonder why that is so I’ve been working on mapping everything, but it’s kind of hard to do even with all of these books and . . . I am so sorry. People have said that I ramble and talk too much. I didn‘t put you off, did I?”

Despite all of her questions, you can tell, even without your ability, that Zandra seems to be a nice person. Perhaps a little too eager, but nice. 

“Before we go to the cafeteria, we have to go get your badge.” She points to her embroidered badge that’s pinned on one of her overall straps. It’s shows a moon background with a purple feminine figure with her mouth open showing her elongated canine teeth, and blood spilling out. This figure also has butterfly wings that are gray blended with brown and has a bright red circle on the upper corner of the wing. “It lets everyone here know what you identify yourself as, and is quite helpful. For example, the cafeteria chef can just look at your pin and tell you what your menu is supposed to be. It also helps for a newbie like me get the hang of identifying what other people are, especially those I’ve never met before so I know how to approach people and what kind of mannerisms I should watch out for. Supposedly, after a few years of attending here, you’re supposed to be able to tell what umbrella people are without needing the badges, but it still helps. We have to go by the Residential Adviser, Mrs. Brancherd, to get your badge.”

You’re not . . . human, right?” You aren’t sure if that was the most sensitive way of asking what someone is, but you had to know.

Luckily for you, Zandra smiles, showing that no offense has been taken by your question. “Despite what my badge shows, I am part human, along with half shtriga, and part strigoi vii, which are vampires. Don’t worry though. I actually can’t stand the sight of someone’s blood. I’m fine with seeing my blood, for the most part, but I don’t like to get my energy from blood even though that’s the easiest way of getting energy. You see, the reason why most vampires drink blood is that it’s the easiest way of receiving other people’s energy, and the reason why we need to get energy from other people is because vampires can’t retain or restore their own energy like humans can. I’m part human so I can restore my own energy, but it takes a long time, so I do sometimes take other people’s energy, but it’s through touch, a sort of physical-slash-psychic channel that allows me to connect with your energy and take as much as I need, but I would prefer only taking it after asking for permission, of course, and I only take a little of it. Not so much that it would hurt or hinder you unless I was desperate, but that hardly ever happens. There are lots of other ways of getting energy, but blood drinking and touching are the easiest; however, like I said before, I don’t like the sight, let alone the taste, of blood, so being roommates shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Right.”

“So what can you do? Since you’re human, you either have a psychic ability or you have a strong practice with magick, right?”

“I don’t know what area of parapsychology my power is, but it’s mostly that I can tell when a person is lying, or if they are someone I can trust. The latter seems for like a gut instinct though.”

“Oh, so you’re basically a low-level empath. That power sounds handy.”

“Only if I can physically prove that the person is lying.”

“That’s true. Bummer. Hey, does that mean that you know you can trust me?”

“Yes, you do seem trustworthy.”

Her expression brightens. 

“What is it that you can do? Dr. Phillips said that this school was for psychics for beings too, right?”

“That’s mostly correct, but some beings don’t have any extra abilities because they can help those with similar extra abilities who don’t understand what they have. As for me, I can astral project myself into other people’s subconscious, but it’s just easier saying that I’m a dream-walker. I try not to, but it’s really hard to control, so I apologize beforehand if I accidentally see something I’m not supposed to, and I promise not to tell anyone anything.” You both reach the Mrs. Brancherd’s office which is next to the girl’s dorm stairs. “I’ll wait out here for you. To be honest, she scares me. Just ring the bell and wait for her.”

You step in the room, immediately shielding your eyes from the slowly rising sun, pouring in from the French windows and step up to the desk. On the counter over the desk is a large black iron bell, mounted on a circular frame. Almost dubious about ringing this large bell, you look around on the counter and look over the desk and to see that there isn’t a smaller office bell. It’s still early in the morning, and it would probably be wiser to not wake so many people up. Especially ones with humans on their diet menu. Seeing as there isn’t another bell, and not wanting to wait until Mrs. Brancherd—whatever she is—gets up, you cautiously grasp the handle and start tipping the bell.

You stop at the first few deep resonating rings and wait. After a few minutes, there isn’t any sign of a response, so you start ringing again. Again, stopping after only a few rings of the bell’s hammer. When there still isn’t any response, you ring the bell again, not stopping until the back door slams open.

“What is it now, you grubs?” Mrs. Brancherd yells with a high pitched voice that pierces your ears and is heavily rasped. You can’t see her over the back counter and you have to wait until she reaches to her desk before you can look over the front counter to see her. “Well?” She states loudly, expecting an answer from you.

“I’m a new stu—.”

“Speak up, I can’t hear you.” The way she talks reminds you of Jessica’s granny who constantly forgets to turn on her hearing aids. 

You try again. Louder, this time, and you talk slowly so she can read you lips just in case she misses any words; although you aren’t sure how much good that would do since her brow bone seems to slump over most of her eyes. “I’m a new student. I need my room key and a badge.”

“Stop talking like that, you grub. I’m hard of hearing, not retarded. She shuffles to a file cabinet, and stands on a stool. She wasn‘t that short, but she has a hump on her back seemingly from slouching, but you weren‘t quite sure since she seemed to resemble a tree with her hair being bundled bare branches, and her wrinkles and skin like bark. If she had kept a good posture, or had grown straighter, she probably would have reached six or seven feet. “What’s your name?” When you tell her your name, she clicks her tongue in irritation, and steps down from the stool to pull out the bottom drawer. “A human, eh? Oh, good. You’re not another one of those fire-starters.” She continues to grumble through your file until she finds your room number. 

Then she walks to another cabinet and stands on a step-stool to retrieve a couple of trifles. Mrs. Brancherd shuffles back to you and hands you a skeleton key and an embroidered cloth pin that‘s bigger than the palm of your hand. It’s white with a ten-pointed star lined in black. Over the star, in the center is what looks to be a yin-yang circle, but instead of black and white commas, there are three commas with the third being gray. On the left and right side of the yin-yang symbol are silver crescent moons, and above the yin yang is a yellow crescent with a red cross standing on it.

“Now if that’s all, you can get out, and let me sleep.”

When you exit the office, making sure that the door is closed, you can hear Zandra chuckle. “See? Pretty scary, huh? Well, now that you have your badge, I’ll take you to the cafeteria.

“Oh, and, by the way, before I forget, don't mind the cat that wanders around. We're not allowed to have pets, but the cat's probably a stray and because our room faces the sunrise, he always finds a way in there. He's really friendly though, so I don't mind that he sticks around, but if you don't like him, I'll try to deter him from getting inside.”

* * *

_Go to[Chapter 10.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8812138/chapters/20293132)_


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